


Dieb an youst (Wind of Ice)

by ReginaRubie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: AU Robert's Rebellion, AU Stronger more powerful North, F/M, Female Original Character: Avaelya Targaryen princess of the Seven Kingdoms, GIANTS!, GREENSEERERS LYARRA AND BENJEN!, Gen, Male Original Character: Celhaeno Blackfyre dark skinned natural born son of Aerys II Targaryen, The North has a mind of its own!, direwolves, old way and magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReginaRubie/pseuds/ReginaRubie
Summary: The North has chosen its protector in Brandon of House Stark, the Wild Wolf.The South has given a bride to the North, the princess Avaelya of House Targaryen is sent North to marry the heir to Winterfell, Brandon Stark, as a way for her father to both control and offend House Stark (as she is considered unfit to marry any of her three brothers because she is frail of health and too sweet of disposition). She comes North with her small retinue and her bastard half-brother Celhaeno Blackfyre to marry in House Stark and hopefully find herself a home in the cold North.She would seem as a fish out of water there, but the North has chosen its bride a princess kissed by ice and shining like a pale moonlight.How may the Rebellion's tides change with a more powerful North (with giants, dwarves and stronger clans of shamans) and how will Brandon's fate change with a Targaryen bride by his side?
Relationships: Aerys II Targaryen/Rhaella Targaryen, Brandon Stark/Original Female Character(s), Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyarra Stark/Rickard Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 69





	1. VAEL I and BRANDON I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeralG4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralG4/gifts).



> Hello! So this work is a gift for FeralG4 who asked me under another of my works in this fandom if I'd like to work on a multi chapter fic with a more powerful North and we sort of went from there.
> 
> So I thank you all if you have decided to try and read this. I am not an English speaker since I live in Italy, but I write all my fic in English yet bear in mind that I am not native speaker when you read, but if you find any errors (or hell, if you want to beta this fic) please come forward for I'd highly like any input that may better my writing skills.
> 
> So, I thank you all and hope you'll like this first double chapter in which we met our two main characters, Vael (our OC) and Brandon.

_Vael I_

She curled her long, slender, porcelain fingers around the drapes of deep blood red of the curtains of the carriage they were riding in, jumping when it hit the umpteenth rock during their journey North of the Neck. She moved them a bit letting the cold, harsh northern winds sweep inside the small wooden carriage by the small window, carding between her silver blondish tresses and caressing her ivory cheeks.

The North pale landscape met her gaze.

It was a mulish green and a watered brown and blue an immense, flat expanse of steppe covered by a thin veil of frost; lumpy, slender snow-white birch trees studded with coal black stains towered proudly on the wildlife. Small patches of light blue daffodils quilted the pale, short grass. The sky was leaden and covered with a thick blanket of clouds that seemed as light as vapor.

«Your highness, please» called her lady in waiting, lady Shayra «close the curtains, we don't want you to fall ill so far from home.» she told her, her tone filled with concern.

Vael rolled her eyes but let the curtain fall shut, hiding the pale, beautiful and raw landscape from her sight. She turned her light, bright amethysts eyes on her friend and sighed.

«I think it would serve me well to actually take a breather, Shayra» she suggested «I am starting to feel cooped up here – she added – I am sure some fresh air will do me good.» she tried, hoping that her tone would get through the woman's fear she was going to fall ill if she wasn't bulked in the warmest, most heavy furs ever.

«Not in the slightest, your highness» the woman replied, her tone cold and recriminating as if she was talking to a small, spoiled brat of five instead of her princess naught but two years younger than her «You should be mindful of your frail health and behave accordingly.»

Vael pressed her full lips in a thin line and nodded looking down to her hands, folded demurely in her lap «You should know better by now, your highness, than take risks with your health» she added for good measure, her tone one of superiority.

Not for the first time since they had set foot out of Kings Landing, Vael mused if that was how the Northerners were told she was. Frail of health and of tender disposition, it would explain why every keep they stopped by in their trek North she had been almost coddled even if with cold, judging eyes.

She wasn't so easily ill, thought.

True, she had been born early of almost two moon, little and blue faced; her mother had had a very difficult time carrying her – as opposed as when she had carried her brothers – and when she had been born the Maesters had little hope she would survive the night since she had looked to be struggling to breath on her own.

Surprisingly she had survived that first night and the one after and all the other for the next six and ten years. She had gotten stronger but despite it she had grown smaller in frame than her mother too – who was almost as tall and slender as her father – and often ill, she had been the delight of her tutors since she had started talking quite early and walking earlier still. By the time she was four she already knew her letters well enough that she could write her own name and could read almost anything. By eight she was fluent both in conversational and written westeron and high valyrian; yet she had been smaller of any other child her age and when she had fallen desperately ill when she was nine she had been swept to Dragonstone where the sulfur thermal posts were told to help people breathe better.

She had remained on Dragonstone for the next four years and had set foot back in the capitol only after her father had been rescued but he had not been the father – distant but good – she had knew in her infancy. He was prone to fits of rage and cruelty that scared her and he almost never considered her.

When she was born her mother had been happy because they had meant to marry her to one of her brothers – mayhaps as a second wife for Rhaegar since his dornish wife was struggling with giving him an heir – but by the time talk of it should have been made, when she had returned to Kings Landing a woman of four and ten that dream had been squashed under the boots of his father who would not give a woman so frail of health in marriage to any of his sons and heirs.

Vael had tried not to let it bother her, her brothers loved her and that would be enough, and her father would one day see reason. But he never did, and her brothers had grown distant. They still loved and cared for her, but they also looked down at her because of her sweet disposition and lacking of furious temper that made their family great.

At the next rock Vael was prepared and did not jump, but lady Shayra did and smacked her elbow against the wooden wall of the carriage.

«By the Gods, do this Northmen not care for their roads?» she muttered «primitive, barbarian jackals. How they got to obtain you in marriage is a mystery.»

Vael looked back at the woman, at her dark brows and hair and at her black eyes and shrugged «I suppose my father has his reasons.» She conceded.

«Dragons do not belong North of the Neck» she muttered shivering «neither do we Hightowers. We should have remained South, this cold climate will not be good for your health.»she pondered.

Vael sighed «Shayra» she tried «I've not been ill in many years. I think we can be quite safe in thinking I won't fall over the next time a gust of wind kisses my cheeks»

«Nonsense» she said doing a dismissive gesture «I have heard your breath at night, your highness, it's costrincted, I can only hope Winterfell is a keep in more than name and they have warmer chambers that the last we've been hosted in. Damned cold North.»

«I found the North to be quite lovely, Shayra» she protested «and the people to be kind if a bit cold. I don't think you should speak ill of them, they are my people now, as I will be their lady.»

The woman made another dismissive gesture «Don't be foolish you are first and furthermost a Targaryen princess – she said – they should kiss the ground you walk on, instead they have been cold and distant, distrustful. I tell you a mass of ungrateful barbarians.»

She straightened her shoulders a bit «Be what it may, Shayra» she said trying to steel her voice as much as she could «The North is my land now – she added – the Northmen my people and I would thank you kindly if you refrained to offend them so.»

Shayra looked at her as if she had sprouted another head and Vael sighed turning to watch the curtain dance with each hole and rock the carriage's wheels hit.

«I think we should read some poem, your highness, don't you think?» she asked trying to change topics.

«I would like that, thank you» she said kindly as the woman produce an old tome and offered it to her as she started sewing again in silence as Vael started to recite the old valyrian poem; after a bit thought she rested the tome on her tights and asked «Don't we have any book on Northern lore or history? I would like to read those.»

Shayra made a grimace «We don't – she said – those illiterate people do not write books.»

«Lord Brandon knew his letter well enough – she protested thinking back of the only missive she had received from her soon to be husband when the betrothal had been finalized – I doubt they don't know how to write books. Surely we must have overlooked them when we departed from Kings Landing.»

Shayra did not comment, but it was clear she did not believe what Vael had just said so she returned to her poem, yet thinking about what a land as apparently barren and raw and wild could actually hide in plain sight.

«Why have we stopped?» lady Shayra asked when the carriage came to a sudden halt «Is it already time to make camp?»

Vael didn't know so she swooped the curtain away from the window and peeked outside. Her older brother was barking out orders to set camp but there was still light out «What happens,Celhaeno?» she asked calling out to her brother.

He turned around and galloped on his horse to the carriage side «We are making camp already – he said – I feel like we are followed» he added «I'd like for us to be all set before the sun sets.»

«Followed?» lady Shayra cried out outraged «Who'd dare?»

«Probably only some wild life – her brother replied sternly – mayhap a boar or a bear. It is nothing to be worried about, we shall keep you safe» he added looking directly at her with his onyx eyes tinted with purple.

Vael smiled and set her hand to rest atop his on the window «I know, I trust you, Celhaeno.» she promised watching as his handsome dark skinned face split into a reserved smile «If you think we should make camp so we should.» she then smiled «How far are we from Winterfell yet?»

«I think we should arrive there as programmed in less than a week from now» he told her gripping her hand back to convey his thanks for her trust «Why don't you get out of this carriage. You should both stretch your legs a bit. It's going to be cramped staying inside all day long.»

Vael smiled «Princess Avaelya should not get cold – lady Shayra snapped back at her brother – you should have her best interest at heart, Blackfyre.»

Her brother's eyes became stony as his face and Vael turned to her lady in waiting her brows arched «I think you should apologise to my brother, lady Shayra. You have spoken out of turn. He has my best interest at heart and as I already have said – she added – a bit of fresh air is going to work wonders for me. You are welcome to stay inside if the northern climate is too harsh for you.»

She then turned and opened the wooden door of the carriage as her brother offered her a hand to help her descend from it. She didn't look back for if she did she would feel sorry for having spoken in such a way to the lady.

She took hold of her brother's hand and let him help her to her feet – indeed her legs had started cramping what with being cooped up all day long inside the carriage – and she followed him when he led her to walk.

They passed by the side of the wooden carriage she was riding in – a wooden carriage with coal black inlays and a wooden carved dragon head, as they passed by it Vael caressed its profile – and then continued to walk up to the hill as she watched around herself in wonder.

«It's so... big» she commented as the sun started setting, bathing the normally cold, blue hue of the landscape in soft and warm golden and reddish glow with a twinge of pink «it looks enchanted.»

«I am happy to hear it» Celhaeno said resting his hand atop her in the cervice of his elbow «it'd be tragic indeed if you were bound to hate the place in which we are supposed to spend the rest of our lives.»

«I could free you of your oath if you ever wished to return South» she offered softly still looking at the landscape as if unable to actually tear her gaze away.

«Don't say such a silly things» he told hernudging her nose with a gloved fingertip «I promised to stay by your side forever, don't you remember?»

She remembered, she had been four and ten, freshly returned at Court after the Ninepenny treachery and her stay on Dragonstone and she had felt like a sore thumb, always under the watchful gaze of the judging courtesans, he had been seven and ten, the bastard son of Aerys II Targaryen and he had already been knighted by their father before his imprisonment. He too had been a sort of outsider and often they would found themselves drawn to one another and had kindled a friendship and kinship stronger than with their other brothers. When she had been promised to Brandon Stark, Celhaeno had sworn his sword to her aid, and had swore the oath of the Sworn Shield and had promised to stay by her side forever.

«I do» she said softly «but if you ever wish to return South...»

«There is nothing for me South of the Neck, sister» he promised her «my mother is dead, my father is as good as dead – he added – you are the only one who matters anymore, our brothers can take care of themselves. My place is by your side.»

Vael nodded «Beside – he added – if I don't watch over you, who will?»

«My husband» she replied almost without thinking and sent him spiraling in a loud snorting laugh.

«Your husband?» he asked «you don't even know the man and are already putting your faith in him.»

«Should I not?» she asked feeling her cheeks pinking at being made fun of by her brother for her childish notion of what marriage would look like.

She knew her parents did not love each other – not in the way a husband and a wife should – but they had had many children, many _male_ children and her. She wanted to believed that a true marriage could be happy in truth? Was it childish of her?

«From all the recounts your betrothed's appetites are... _ravenous_. By all accounts it is some kind of miracle he is yet to sire a bastard» he told her truthfully.

Vael looked down to her gloved hands, curled tightly to each-other before her womb.

Her brother's hand on her shoulder made her snap her eyes up to met his darker ones «I promised to always tell you the truth – he reminded her – and I say this only with your best interests at heart, sister, the man you are going to marry will most probably not be satisfied by only you.»

She gulped and steered her gaze away from her brother's eyes looking back at the landscape of the North, flat and merciless.

«I will worry about it when the time comes» she decreed «but thank you, for having told me. I should know who I am walking to.»

She fidgeted with the hem of her coal corset as her long, deft fingers trembled. It was finally time, today they would ride inside Winterfell – the keep she was supposed to watch over when the time came – they had sighed the imposing castle from miles away. It stood at the centre of the North, large and imposing with its towers and dark, dump stone walls. The banner of House Stark – a grey direwolf on a white field – stood proudly hanging from the outer walls of the keep.

A village was sat against its side, it teemed with life and the noises of the small folk and their daily works could be heard from where they were.

They had stopped for them to refresh themselves before they finally passed through the gates of the keep and she would met those who would become her new family; she was excited to met them all, most of all her betrothed the first son of lord Rickard Stark, the Warden of the North. Yet now she felt so nervous she could scarcely stomach the very idea of going inside.

Since two days prior when they had started to skirt the outer border of the Wolfswood and she had started to feel watched she hadn't been able to sleep properly. More so when once she had decided to walk a little to clear her mind – not alone, for they would never let her move a step if she had done so – and had sighed in the deep forest dark shadows two enormous eyes of steel and sharp claws bared and shining under the moonlight.

But as soon as the breath had been knocked out of her the eyes had disappeared as had the claws never to be seen again, yet the feeling of being watched had not passed. And now she felt not only watched but ready to puke for the nerves.

She knocked on the wooden door of the carriage demanding its immediate halt.

«What happens, your highness?» asked lady Shayra immediately concerned. Vael pressed her hands to her abdomen that hurt at the imminent entrance in Winterfell so nervous that she was on doing a bad impression.

_Whatever happens from now on_ , had been her mother's parting words for her, _do me proud, child_. Her father's had been crueler, more acre, as he had reminded her that from that moment on she was no more a Targaryen and she should look after herself.

The concerned dark face of her brother was the first to come in sight as soon as the carriage stopped and Vael literally jumped out, disregarding her fur cloak and staring pacing around her hands pressed to her tummy.

What if they didn't like her? They _had_ to. She could not stomach the hate for the rest of her life.

What if they never grew to like her or worse started to resent her because she was not the perfect dragon princess of stories? She would sooner launch herself from the highest tower.

«Vael» her brother called trying to stop her «what seems to be the problem?» he asked her when finally she turned to look at him.

«I am afraid» she muttered, feeling like a child «what if they don't like me?» she mused feeling more childish too because she had said it out loud. Her brother's expression turned soft.

«If they don't they are mighty stupid – he said – and whoever disrespects you will meet the not blunt end of my sword, sister. You are not alone» he promised her grabbing her shoulder with his gloved hand «I promise you. I will be there for every step of the way.»

Vael nodded biting her lips to keep the tears at bay.

«Now dry your tears sister, you are of the Blood of Old Valyria. The blood of Aegon the Dragon and no wolf should scare you so.» he told her softly kissing her forehead. Vael closed her eyes and steeled herself before breathing out.

«Thank you.» she murmured to her brother.

«Don't mention it.» he smiled and escorted her back to her carriage, she put the first step on the wooden ladder that would led her back inside the carriage and stopped before turning around her silver blond tresses swirling around her.

«Bring me Silverwave, please» she said «I'd like to ride inside the keep.» despite phrasing it like a request it was clear by her tone that it was a demand and lady Shayra jumped out of the carriage outraged as her brother started to obey her order.

«What? Absolutely not, your highness! Out of question! You will tangle all of your hair and will look a fright before your betrothed! Not to mention the cold winds, you could get a fever and...»

«The princess» her brother seethed «has deemed appropriate to ride inside the gates of Winterfell» he told her lady in waiting «and her order much surpass yours. So ride she shall, you may return inside the carriage if you will or join her in her ride.»

It was a clear signal, he turned to her and smiled as he murmured while departing to obey her demand and bring her, her mare « _Eman aôha paghagon_ ».

_I have got your breathe_ , Vael smiled softly and watched him as he went to find her mare.

She turned to lady Shayra who looked as if she had been struck.

«You absolutely cannot, your highness» she tried again to regain her footing by coming closer to her and making sure her cloak was wrapped well enough around her shoulders «What will I do if you fall ill?»

«Come now, lady Shayra – she said kindly – I won't fall ill just because I have ridden inside the gates they are not even so far away, see?» she said pointing to the keep in the distance «Besides I will be the lady wife of the Warden of the North, my lady – she reminded her – I should get accustomed to this climate or would you have me cooped up wrapped in a wool for the rest of my life?»

It was clear by her expression that _that_ was exactly what she believed the best course of action.

«I will ride, my lady – she added sounding more determined that she had ever when talking to her lady in waiting – you are welcome to join me or ride in the carriage, your choice.» she said trying her best to sound convincing but her heart also went out to the woman because she looked mighty cold and was shivering all over.

Vael imagined she didn't because her blood – being of blood of Old Valyria – was hotter than normal. The woman looked back at the carriage and Vael nudged her to it «Go on, I won't be offended» she assured her as her brother came back offering her his hand.

Vael smiled to the lady and turned letting him lead her to her mount and helping her mount, she adjusted herself on the saddle and gripped the rein tight caressing her mare's silver wavy mane.

She whispered to the animal in high valyrian and the mare nodded her head as if she had understood her. She then straightened herself on the saddle and gave her brother a solemn nod and they started their slow ride to the keep.

By the time they finally got close enough to the gates to actually see the grounds her nerves had somewhat calmed down a bit and Vael rode inside followed closely by her brother and the rest of her humble household.

The entirety of the Winterfell courtwas there to greet her, as they should be as per etiquette, in the front raw stood the Stark family themselves. She had learnt what she could of them during her travel North.

Lord Rickard was the Warden of the North and he had sired by his wife, lady Lyarra Stark, four children three of whom were male. The firstborn, lord Brandon was her betrothed; he was closely followed by another brother – lord Eddard Stark whom she knew was in the Vale under the tutelage of Lord Jon Arryn – and a sister, lady Lyanna. Last had come another brother, lord Benjen.

In that moment, waiting for her, were lord Rickard a man in his forties with greying hair held back from his stern face. He looked severe.

Lady Lyarra was a beautiful woman in her late thirties with ebony hair peppered with silver tresses, she had a kind smile on her long face and grey eyes; lord Benjen was small – a young boy of maybe ten and one at most – with a mop of dark hair and the long face that seemed to characterize all the Starks, he looked as uncomfortable as she felt and she thought to have find in his kind eyes a kindred soul; lady Lyanna was a beauty oftwo or three and ten with dark ink black hair, a long stern face, eyes of steel and her face set on a stony expression that left little to imagination. She was not happy she was here.

Then her eyes swept to lord Brandon and the breathe got stuck in her throat. He was a good head taller than his father and twice as muscular, he would tower over her tiny frame as he seemed to tower over anyone around; he had the long stern face of his family, but his grey brown eyes were gentle as was the curve of his full lips half hidden by his beard. He looked combed and comfortable in his light armor.

They were sided by a Maester of the Citadel, a young man that could be their Master-at-arms and the rest of their court.

«Presenting her highness» called her steward «the princess Avaelya of House Targaryen, daughter of Our Grace, the king Aerys of House Targaryen, second of his name.»

Vael brought Silverwave to a stop and she literally breathed out a lock of silver hair that had stuck in her mouth after the ride inside.The Court fell in a deep bow to salute her and she looked back at her brother who shrugged and dismounted before helping her off her mare.

«How do I look?» she murmured, suddenly afraid of the impression she might have made while riding inside. She would look like a savage.

He watched her with his dark purple eyes and smiled «Free» he said «I think they'd like that.»

She smiled and nodded disentangling herself from him and walking at a sedate pace to the Stark family – lady Lyanna had her face scrunched in a nasty expression but Vael tried not to let it bother her – and stopped before lord Rickard and did a small courtesy.

«Lord Stark» she greeted «It is an honor to be welcomed in your home.»

The man stood straighter and observed her before nodding «It is our honor to bind ourself to a princess such as yourself» he offered although it felt stiff and untrue. False courtesies.

Vael knew them well.

She caught a movement at the side of her eye and suddenly a plate with bread and salt was offered to her. She remember having read somewhere it was custom in the North and also somewhere passed the Neck to offer the guests bread and salt to welcome them in one's home.

She had never accepted bread and salt but took it and with a trembling hand she brought it to her mouth, eating it. She stomached the salty bread with some difficulty and it left her mouth in need of water but she breathed out and tried to give them the best smile she could.

«May I present my brother?, ser Celhaeno Blackfyre my Sworn Shield.» she said gesturing to said brother as he came closer and bowed. She noticed that lord Brandon towered a good head over him too and that since she had entered the gates the gaze of her betrothed had yet to waver from her.

«We heard much of your ability on a horse and in joust, ser» lord Rodrick commented «we are happy to house you.»

Her brother smiled and bowed his head as per custom and Vael smiled softly as lord Rickard gestured for his wife «May I present my wife, the lady Lyarra of House Stark?» the woman curtsied and she did the same.

«Your highness»

«My lady – she offered – I am most happy to meet you.»

The woman gave her a warm smile and her eyes twinkled «Likewise, your highness. We have been waiting for you.» she gave her a smile in return and turned back to lord Rickard waiting for the next presentation.

«My only daughter – she turned to the lady Lyanna that did a truly awful curtesy – the lady Lyanna of House Stark»

She smiled softly at the young girl «My lady – she greeted although the girl had yet to address her properly – I have heard you are a mighty great horse rider – she said remembering the words of lord Glover when asked about the youngest lady of House Stark – mayhap I could join you in one of your rides, although I am afraid of not being as good as you» she offered.

The girl made a strange face but nodded «I would be honored, your highness.» she noticed the girl looking at her father as if to be sure he approved and she realized she must have been instructed on how to address her very throughly. She didn't blame her for resenting her for the long hours she would have spent learning the proper etiquette; although any lady of noble standing should know at least the simplest rules.

«My youngest – lord Rickard continued – lord Benjen of House Stark» he told her gesturing to the boy who was quite bold indeed because he took a step and had the audacity of taking her hand before it was offered to kiss the back of it.

«Why you are quite dashing aren't you, my lord?» she jested smiling as the boy's cheeks redden but he stood true and took his step back.

«You are as pretty as I had seen.» he told her; Vael frowned then realized he must have seen the painting of her her family was bound to have sent North when first talk of the betrothal must have been broached.

«Why thank you, my lord.» she offered back and he smiled looking as if his idol had just smiled down at him and Vael was truly touched by his childlike wonder.

Lord Rickard cleared his throat «Well – he offered – last but not least, let me present you my heir and your betrothed, your highness, my son, lord Brandon of House Stark.» he said gesturing to said son.

Lord Brandon took a step closer, but did wait until she offered her hand to actually kiss it, his eyes never once leaving hers. He did tower over her – she arrived barely to his chest he was so tall – yet she did not feel crowed; it didn't feel like he was over her, more like he was _around_ her, wrapping her in his presence.

His eyes were not just grey – she realized seeing them up close – they were peppered with dark, molten brown and they were circled by long dark lashes and they were **_intense_** ; as if they were looking in her very soul.

«Lord Brandon» she breathed out and he smiled at her, a small curved smile that made her heart stutter.

«Your highness – he greeted back holding her hand perhaps a little more than was proper – you are a vision for sore eyes.» he offered before stepping back as the greeting part of her welcome was over.

«Please, your highness – lady Lyarra offered – if you'd like I would be honored to escort you to the chambers we prepared for you. And we'd all be honored if you'd grace us with your presence to the small banquet we have organized to welcome you to Winterfell.»

Vael nodded her head, bowing her head a bit and following the woman as she gestured for to follow her inside.

Lady Stark was kind and gentle, she escorted her inside the gloomy looking keep that inside was warmer than she would have expected and candle lit in such a way that it made her feel the warmth of home.

«I have chosen for you, your highness – the woman told her – the warmest chambers in all the keep, to help you adjust to our autumns»

«Thank you, my lady – she said nodding clearly touched – both I and my lady in waiting, the lady Shayra Hightower thank you kindly for your generosity.»

«Don't be silly, my dear – the woman told her with a dismissive gesture – it is our pleasure to host you here in Winterfell.»

Vael smiled softly at the woman and she smiled right back at her. There was no false courtesy neither in her tone neither in her words. She felt for one single moment truly appreciated by this hard folk that she had never met before.

She had searched for a home for all of her life. Kings Landing had felt like home, for a while, Dragonstone felt too stiff for her, too gloomy, and when she had finally returned to the capitol it too had changed and did not feel like home. It was colder than the winds that swept the pale North. Here she did not feel at home yet, but she could see that she could grow to feel at home in such a place.

She smiled softly as lady Sharya came to walk with them after having exited the carriage and having been escorted inside too.

«Your highness, we should get you out of that damp clothes – she said – if we don't want you to fall ill your first night here.»

Vael rolled her eyes heavenward and forced herself not to look in lady Stark eyes. Had she done so she was sure she would have seen suspicious and probably delusion. She couldn't bare it, especially when the woman had been, until now, so warm and welcoming.

She turned to Shayra and exhaled «Of course, my lady – she offered – why don't you precede me inside?» she asked and lady Shayra knew better than to protest with her dismissal, she merely bowed to both her and her future mother in law and followed a servant inside the chamber the woman had just shown them.

«I am afraid – she admitted turning to the woman – that I have been coddled most of my life.» she tried to give her, her best grin «But I assure you, my lady – she added – I am in perfect health since I have stepped foot on Dragonstone many years past and I have yet to fall ill again since then.»

She knew news of her frail health was bound to have reached all corners of the Realm still she hoped no one would question it as outwardly as Shayra had done. Sometimes she asked herself if her lady in waiting took some sort of joy in belittling her so with the excuse of her disposition.

Lady Stark smiled sweetly «I am sure you will acclimate very well to the North, your highness» she offered with a small smile as lord Benjen came to her side with a small smile in her direction and his eyes – dark and full of wonder – fixed on her pale face.

«Yes, my son?» his mother asked him. Benjen just shrugged.

«Father and Brandon are in the Godswood» he told her as if it was some cryptic signal «and...»

«Let me guess, your sister has decided to try and sneak a peek» she said in a tone of fond nuisance; Vael watched as lord Benjen blushed and nodded and his mother rolled her eyes before fisting her gowns and doing a small courtesy «Please, excuse me, your highness – she said – my son can very well escort you the rest of the way to your chambers – she added – I have a daughter to catch.»

«Of course» she smiled «Thank you for your kind welcome.» she added as the woman turned tail and started to walk very fastly down the corridor in guise of not running.

She then followed lord Benjen – who looked to be quite excited by the prospect of escorting her to her chambers – smiling softly at the boy excitement.

«What happens in the Godswood? I have never been to one. Is it as peaceful as they say?»

Lord Benjen shrugged «It is our true home – he said to her cryptically – beside, you will be married in the Godswood. You shall see for yourself.»

She blinked surprised by the certainity in his tone «I... I will?» she asked «won't I and your brother be married under the Light of the Seven?» she added surprised.

She knew the North kept the Old Gods but she also knew that many keeps had a temple and a septon and various septas so she had sort of been sure that she would be married like all of her ancestors under the Light of the Seven.

Lord Benjen shrugged again «We don't follow the New Gods – he told her – we are of the North and here we follow the Olds Gods. Brandon could never be married in a way different that the Old Way.»

_But_ , she wanted to say, _I am a Targaryen of Dragonstone. I was born under the Light of the Seven, what about the Gods_ **_I_** _follow?_

«Here we are» lord Benjen signaled gesturing to the door to their left «You will like the chambers very much, believe me.» he offered before scrambling away with an odd bow.

Vael blinked and watched him go; _what a strange boy_ , she thought entering the chambers they had assigned to her. They were spartan but there was a bookshelf with many books assembled quite recently by the looks of it and a good stock of candles. It looked like her love for late reading had indeed reached the Northern borders of the Realm, she thought, fingering the books on the shelves.

There was a big window by which was a big bed, not as big as hers in Kings Landing, but big enough and soft enough looking.

There was a strange roaring watery noise coming from the walls so experimentally she touched her hand to the stone, retracting it in surprise.

The walls of stone were not cold as she had expected but quite warm indeed. She took courage and pressed her ear to the wall – pressing her cold cheek to the warm stone wall – and could hear the roaring of the water beneath the stone wall.

She had read in a book that Winterfell had been built above hot springs and that it was the warmest keep of the North but until that moment she hadn't given that information much credit.

She had been wrong. She felt like a small child full of wonder as she flattened her hands to the wall and let the warmth seep into her.

Then noise from below attracted her attention and Vael stepped away from the wall, walking to the window and looking out; her gaze immediately found him. He was walking with long, powerful strides, a long sword strapped to his back and his face was stained with blood; but he seemed to beunharmed. Lord Rickard followed closely and he had an ashen face, but he too looked unharmed.

«Your highness! Close that window! And, are you still in those damp clothes? - lady Shayra's shrill voice made her jump out of her skin – Gods be good!, we should dry you presently!»

Vael sighed but closed the window and retreated inside the room to be coddled by her lady in waiting. 

* * *

_Brandon I_

_I_ ce fell on the neck of the deserter and severed head from body in one clean cut. It wasn't the best sword for an execution – what with not being round edged like the execution blades – but it held the right significance as it had been bathed with the blood of traitors since the beginning of time.

They called it also the _Blade of the North_ and so justice in the North if administered by a Stark was to be given with Ice.

The body fell, the severed head rolled a few feet in grassy undergrowth of the Godswood almost to the small, dark pool that sat at the feet of the altar beneath the Heart Tree. He could feel the blood on his face – the traitor's blood – as he took the cloth offered by his father and cleaned the blade of the long sword in silence.

Only the winds hissed and rustled among the crimson leaves of the Heart Tree. Its face seeping the dark amber from its eyes and mouth, dark and almost crimson against the white of the trunk.

«Let's put the body on the altar – he said as he was helped by his father and Rodrick Cassel to bring the body on the stone altar that many said Brandon the Builder had built first in the Godswood before enclosing it in the walls of the keep – the head.» he called.

Rodrick Cassel took it by the air and offered it to him; Brandon took it too and closed its eyes, resting it against the chest of the body it had been severed from. He covered its eyes with the cloth stained with blood from the blade of his long sword and then he turned to Rodrick who was holding the torch in his gloved hand.

Brandon was without gloves, he did not feel the chill in the air and the cold did not bother him, he accepted the torch and turned to the others «Step back» he ordered and both his father and Rodrick obeyed immediately.

« _Nay tingsu isainde in si abadons fonnai qen raistra isainde shaidar_ » he said solemnly as he lit body and head on the altar. _No honor has the man who leaveshis post when the road darkens_ , the Old Tongue words for the deserters of the Watch.

« _Aye_ » his father and Rodrick Cassel echoed as theywatched the body being engulfed by the flame. It was an old ritual they still abided to, a ritual of the First Men. Burning the dead as after a blood sacrifice to the Old Gods so that the Gods may forgive the slight done to their oath by Man and do not take away their blessing on the First Men.

Silent as a ghost, its paws padfoot even against the leaves on the ground the imposing mole of Chalot padded to him, standing at his side. The direwolf was big, bigger than a horse, so great and imposing that his head was four times that of a man and that his impressive mole was so that he was as tall on four paws as Brandon was and he stood a good 6'1-6'11 feet.

He was one of the tallest men in the North save for the Umbers, and they claimed to descends from the Giants. Chalot's head nudged his and his damp, cold snout bumped his bearded cheek. The burrowed a hand in the dark coal black fur of the beast and merely let his breath go in sync with the direwolf's letting his eyes never left the fire engulfing the body. 

They watched the body until it became ash and when it did they dispersed the ashes in the dark pool at the feet of the Heart Tree.

When finally they had been done he turned to Chalot and petted him; the direwolf did not like to be treated like a domestic dog, yet sometimes Brandon found that he searched comfort in the beast who left him find it by petting him, Chalot thought beared the duty despite his eyes being as cold as the North.

Brandon asked himself what he would do without him, the wolf may be only a beast to a many eyes, but to him he was a friend and a confidant. The one he could go for comfort now that the North, and the responsibility that went with it,started to settle on his shoulders.

Unbidden an image came to his mind.

A Targaryen princess, clad in her House colors – the deep crimson red of blood and ink black of the coal – upon her silver maned mare riding inside the gates of Winterfell her long, curly moonlight hair gently swept by the winds, her cheeks made pink by exertion and her pretty blush when he had greeted her, kissing her hand.

He smiled thinking of the way her cheeks had pinked when he had complimented her, the way she had breathed out his name with those full heart-shaped rosy lips of hers; those bright amethyst eyes had looked at him in a way that had made him smilewholeheartedly for the first time in many moons.

His betrothed.

When his father had first told him he had started talk of a betrothal with the princess of House Targaryen Brandon had been blaffed at best. Normally a Northman's daughter would have been chosen for the role of lady Stark, that since the time of Brandon the Builder. He had thought like many did still that his father had set his sight too southward and was forgetting how closely knit with the land they were. There had never been a non-north-woman beside a Stark man.

He had asked himself if that was why the North seemed to have chosen him while his father was still lord of Winterfell.

He had been skeptical even when his youngest brother had told him that their father was doing the right thing. But with Benjen being a green seerer – and one of the strongest of his generation – he had started doubting his own skepticism. He had then trekked around the Wolfswood for almost a moon to talk to the Children of the Forest about it.

And when they, also, had seemed on board with the idea he had returned to Winterfell with a less heavy heart knowing that probably this was exactly what the North itself wanted.

Thought his skepticism had returned when he had been told that the girl was considered of frail health and that she had spent many years away from court. He had been fascinated by the girl in the painting the Crown had sent them of the princess. But paintings could lie and she could indeed be a small, little and ill girl. Although from all accounts she was said to be of sweet disposition and quite kind.

Still, accounts could lie too.

So he had been pleased beyond measure when his betrothed had rode inside Winterfell atop her mare, her hair in disarray and her chin held high. She had dispersed by just doing so any suspect he had on her frail disposition.

She had looked gentle and sweet in the way she had greeted them all, demure and kind, exactly as she had been described when he had asked recounts on his betrothed.

She was so tiny, small of frame and lithe that he towered over her with his almost 6'11 feet of heigh. He could very well enclose her small, lithe frame in his and none would be the wiser. Her hand had been so much smaller than his that he had felt like a giant and one of the strongest sense of protection he had ever felt had caught him off guard.

She was funny too if the way she had replied to Benjen excitement was of any indication.

That had surprised him because he had been waiting for a stuck up princess, instead he had gotten a woman that seemed to be invariably kind. She had even taken the time to ask around for the Stark children interest if the comment she had offered Lyanna were of any indication.

«You seem happy – Rodrick commented falling into step with him as they walked back to the keep – does this mean you approve of your betrothed?»

Brandon grinned «Aye» he said thinking back on the way her rosy lips had moved when spelling his name. They looked like rose petals – they did – and he was curious; would they also taste like the rosebuds they looked like?

Would her skin taste of roses or some other flower of the South?

Rodrick shrugged «Well she is indeed quite beautiful, if you like the delicate, gentle kind.» he commented and Brandon let out a laugh for if one thing had always gained him jest was his love for delicate things he invariably would break. He only hoped this princess to be tougher than she looked. But he had the feeling he would be surprised by her every time.

They had arrived back to the grounds when he and Rodrick bid each other farewell as his friend returned to his post as guard and he walked back to the keep his father hot on his heels.

«You and the princess will be married soon» he said approaching and Brandon rolled his eyes.

«May I at least know her a bit before binding myself to her wholeheartedly?» he whispered back and his father grunted.

«Don't be foolish – he said – this is the chance of a lifetime for us.» he told him «with this marriage all will know that House Stark is powerful and strong because even the Crown conceded us its only princess. You know how many times it happened before?» he asked.

And Brandon shook his head «I am sure you are about to tell me, Father»

«Less cheek and more respect from you, young man – his father snapped – I am your father and your lord liege still.»

Brandon bent his head a bit to concede his point as his father continued «Never to a Northern House» he said «the last Great House that was given a Targaryen bride, the only princess at the time, is House Martell. We are of equal footing with them with this marriage, you must understand this.»

Brandon rolled his eyes but stayed silent.

«You will marry that girl – his father said pointing an accusing finger in his direction – are we clear?»

«Crystal» he nodded straightening. From his height he towered even over his own father «Beside, my Lady Mother seems convinced she is the right one to be the next lady of Winterfell, and I shall always trust her judgment.» he added before storming away from his pale faced father without looking back.

Brandon entered the keep, immediately finding himself face to face with the pouting lips of his sister. Lyanna was sat on the stone floor, her feet tucked beneath the fabric of her pale grey gown and she was staring off in the distance with that air of anger that often characterized her.

He sighed and softly sat down next to her.

«You are aware you have blood on your face, aren't you?» she asked in lieu of greeting.

He didn't reply merely looked directly in front of them, the people that passed them didn't even bother to ask if they needed anything for for the oldest of the children of Lord Rickard was often seen consoling his siblings and just sharing in their quirks.

«What would your lady think about you going around with blood on your face?» she muttered clearly displeased and not afraid to made it known «Probably she'd tell you to wipe it away;would faint at the sight of blood, too.» she added.

Brandon frowned «Why are you so determined to dislike her?» he asked «she has been polite and kind enough.» he pointed out.

«Oh aye – Lyanna nodded – she has been polite and kind enough. Because we all know that _that_ is what is needed to be Lady of Winterfell.»

«Our mother is polite and kind too» he quipped arching a brow as to defy her to say it not true. Lyanna shrugged.

«And she is also a green seerer – she reminded him – what does this _southern_ have that any girl of the North does not?» she questioned «Will she also be included in our sacred rituals when the daughter of Winterfell is excluded?» she pondered out loud.

Brandon didn't say anything at first «I know you are braver than any of us Lyanna – he told her – but not even I would want you to partake in such a sight.»

«But she will, won't she?» she asked bitterly.

And Brandon had resolved to never lie to his siblings, no matter the circumstances «Aye, she will as will be her duty.»

Lyanna exhaled a shaky breath and looked directly in front of herself, tears glistening on her cheeks as she held at bay her sobs.

«Sometimes I wish I was born a male – she said – I would not be excluded from our rituals and I would be left free to take up arms and fight with my brothers instead of sitting home and knitting by the fire» she added.

«But if you had you would not have been our Lyanna – he told her, nudging her shoulder with his making sure not to instill much strength in the gesture – and it would a terrible pity»

That did make her smile and Brandon smiled too as she tucked her raven haired head on his shoulder and beneath his chin.

«I love you, big brother» she murmured and Brandon passed an arm around her shoulders smiling softly and kissing the air around her hair «And I you, my little she-wolf»

They stayed like that for much time until it was time for them to prepare for the welcoming feast. Before letting him go Lyanna embraced him tight «I don't like her – she told him – be careful around her, even a beautiful dragon can still breath fire.»

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alight with many candles that burned and tinted the room of a golden light. Brandon was sat at his father's right while his lady Mother was sat at his left, at her left sat Lyanna who looked quite pretty in her blueish grey dress while Benjen was seated at Lyanna's side.

The doors finally opened and the princess entered the hall at her brother's arm.

Ser Blackfyre wore a coal black doublet and pants and he was unarmed – at least openly – Brandon noticed their stance to be stiffer than when Brandon walked Lyanna during important feast down the Hall.

When he accompanied Lyanna they would often be talking in hushed tones, their arms wrapped tightly around the other's, their head bent together to whisper about their guests.

Princess Avaelya and her brother did not look as mushy, although one could see the affection and fondness shining of both of their eyes, they were stiff, their elbows did not touch and the princess rested her hand above the hand of her brother – palm against knuckles – almost a feet of space between their bodies, their backs straight and their chin held high.

Evermore the Black Dragon walked a step behind his sister and Brandon thought it must be because he was a Blackfyre and not a Targaryen.

The princess looked divine clad in a vibrant crimson gown that hugged her figure and enhanced her small waist – so small in fact that Brandon could picture it would suffice only one of his hands to actually enclose it – with a valyrian steel belt that resembled a dragon which mouth rested at her right hip. She had let her silvery hair bounce freely down her back, the frontal tresses twisted away from her moon-shaped face a small braid dangling in front of her left breast adorned with silver beads.

Her brother did not look less royal by her side and none could mistake him for anyone but someone with Targaryen blood for his dark amethyst eyes sold him away. Brandon stood up with the rest of his family and the rest of the guests who took turns in watching and commenting on the princess appearance.

They had stopped walking down the hall and the princess clasped her hands demurely in front of her self while her brother stood a step back «Lord Stark – the princess said politely doing an elegant courtesy – lady Stark. I thank you kindly for your hospitality and this beautiful welcoming feast you have decided to grace us with» she said, a small smile on her full lips.

Brandon found that when she talked he almost stopped listening and could do nothing but stare at those rosebuds lips of hers wondering how they'd feel against his, against his skin.

«It's entirely much more than we deserve» she added the courtesy spilling from her sensual mouth as if she wasn't even aware of the effect she had on him – on every hot blooded male in the room he was sure – as she spoke with such a grace.

«It is you, your highness, that does us a honor with your presence – his lord father said gesturing for the free seat by Brandon's side – please we reserved you and your noble brother a seat.»

The smile the princess gave them was grateful and blinding, while the Black Dragon looked like he had just witnessed a miracle, and probably he had because despite being a royal bastard he was still a bastard and so he must not have often sat at the high table.

She exchanged a look with her brother who offered her his hand again to help her step up on the dais on which the high table was placed and Brandon followed her steps as she came closer with his eyes.

Her brother escorted her to her seat at his side – taking the one at hers – and helped her sit down in doing so though Brandon's hand as if moved by its own will was offered too. He would have blushed had he been a green boy, and maybe he did when she took hold of his hand with one of hers as she adjusted her gown as not to step on it while sitting down as if itwas as natural as breathing.

She smiled softly in his direction and Brandon felt his heart thundering in his chest as it did after a good duel on the training grounds.

He sat only after she had too and had let out a soft «Thank you, my lord.»

She ate dainty, with elegance and munched on small morsels of food and always commented on it as if it was the best delicacy she had ever tasted. She was especially fond – he discovered – of the honeyed meat that was served during the second course and her brother jested with her commenting on her _sweet tooth_ to which she had responded easily with a bright smile «At least I am not a fan of sour – she added – or my face would be as sour as yours, o' brother of mine.»

When the third course was done with the bard started to sing and people started to assemble around to move the tables to start dancing all around. As soon as the music became more lively and Lyanna swept a struggling Benjen down to dance together Brandon turned to the princess noticing she was drumming her fingers along with the beat of the music.

«Do you sing, your highness?» he asked her and she turned her bright amethysts eyes on him smiling softly if a bit embarrassed.

«I am afraid I am a merely passable singer, but not near as decent as Celhaeno here and certainlynot as good as Rhaegar.» she told him with a sweet smile.

«She is being modest – her brother intervened – she is quite a singer.»

The princess turned to her brother with a glare but he merely raised his glass to her.

She turned back to him «Ignore him. It's the wine talking »

«You should sing something then» he said hoping she would indeed for if her singing voice was as graceful as her normal voice she would be indeed qui te talented.

She smiled back at him «There is no drink strong enough to compel me to sing before such an esteemed audience, my lord» she said raising her cup as if to toast at him «besides I am without my harp – she said – and I am afraid that without I have a scarce sense of the music beat.»

«Mayhap another time, then» he offered and she smiled softly at him before nodding.

«Mayhap» she conceded before a wild grinning Benjen came stumbling to them and offered her his hand.

Brandon was quite impressed by his brother's attempt and the princess looked to be quite as astounded as touched when he asked her to dance.

«Why my lord – she said getting on her feet and accepting his hand – I would be most honored by such a valiant soul who would brave have his feet stepped on.»

Brandon watched her go with his grinning brother and frowned when they started dancing and she proved to be a great dancer, graceful and elegant, vibrant and vivid, her crimson dress dancing with her steps as if the rest of the hall was discolored in front of her.

«She is a precious jewel, Stark» he turned finding the dark amethyst, lucid eyes of ser Blackfyre boring into his «She is my only sister and the littlest of four siblings. If her heart is broken she will be avenged.»

Brandon nodded appreciating the direct manner of the man «I hope not to hurt her» he said.

«See that you don't or whatever frozen hell your Gods send you to will look like mercy.» the knight told him, his stone face severe, his lips set in a grim line.

He would have wanted to bark a laugh at his threat, but he also had a sister and he knew that if she was in the princess' place, about to get married, Brandon would much the same ser Blackfyre was doing now.

Brandon watched as the princess was then offered a dance – a more sedated one – by his father. Brandon was quite sure it should have been the first dance of the evening; that of his father, the lord Warden and the princess, but she didn't look displeased at all by the way the evening was going so he would not worry about it.

Brandon watched her dance a couple of songs more, always with Benjen as none others dared to ask her after her dance with his lord father was done.

«She is quite a beauty» he turned as his mother took his lord father's place at his side a small smile on her lips, she brought her ale to her lips and smiled watching the princess indulge Benjen «and she seems great with kids too.»

Brandon looked at the princess as she laughed when Benjen overstepped the dance and almost lost his balance.

«She seems gentle» he offered trying hard not to picture the way she would look when indeed she had a child of her own. _His_ child.

Since he had been grown enough to know what he wanted from women Brandon had never thought ofsiring a child, he had been in love – like any green boy of five and ten could be at the time – but had never thought of children. He knew they would come when it was the time so he had not even worried about it when he had laid with his many conquests.

He was used to imagine beautiful women – seeing them lying beneath him – in throes of pleasure and yet he had never imagined them with a child, a child born of his seed.

«She does – his mother nodded – and there is much dignity in her» she added with that preternatural knowledge she often displayed «She will be a good wife»

«Will I grow to love her?» he asked observing as her brother offered her his arm for a new dance, this one had a southern accent to it and it was quite choreographed. The two of them moved in perfect sync and looked like darkness and light mixing together as they danced around each other, for every step of one the other matched his own.

The princess twirled around herself and around her dance partner, her crimson gown sweeping around her on the floor, her small beaded braid shining in the candle light.

His mother was observing him observe her with a small smile on her lips; the song ended and the princess stopped for a moment – her hair a bit in disarray, her cheeks tinted pink for the exertion – and she was a bit panting after the dance.

And he could just picture her – he knew – panting, the porcelain expense of her skin bare to see, the curve of her lithe waist, every dip, every cervice on her body perfectly molding despite being so small against his. He forced his gaze away from her bright amethysts eyes and caught his lady mother knowing grin «Do you really want to know?» she asked with a mischievous glint in her warm eyes «Or you'd rather find out on your own?»

Brandon rolled his eyes and looked back at his betrothed who was returning to the high table escorted by her brother.

«You lied your highness – he told her in a jovial tone – you are indeed a great dancer. We should have been more worried about _your_ feet due to my brother's clumsiness than of his.»

She smiled gulping down a sip of her wine, when she turned to him she was still smiling «Why, my lord – she teased – it almost sounds as if you were worried.»

Brandon smiled and rolled his eyes but said nothing just enjoying her presence by his side as her brotherventured down the hall probably in search of other company.

«So, your highness – he begun – how are you finding the North? Is it up to your liking?» he asked awaiting in bathed breath for her reaction. Could he live with someone who didn't respect, love and cared for the North?

She did not even hesitate «I find it raw – she said, as if mulling her words very well – and strangely enchanting»she said «It's different – she said – it's exactly as I have been told and so much more.»

«What did they tell you?, before departing Kings Landing, I mean.»

The princess shrugged a bit before replying «Ser Jaime... he was telling me of how it was flat and boring, pale, murky and muddy. Suppose I should not have believed him since he has never been here himself.» she added with a dreamy look on her beautiful face.

_«Ser_ Jaime? _»_ he asked feeling suddenly suspicious of the woman before him. Did she have a lover back in Kings Landing? The smile on her full lips certainly suggested she did feel something for this Jaime fellow, whoever he was.

«Yes – she added – ser Jaime of House Lannister» she told him «He is a knight of the Kingsguard» she told him «the youngest to have ever served – she added – and a good friend of mine. His father had once broached talk of a marriage between us but Jaime always dreamt of becoming a knight of the Kingsguard. My brother Rhaegar knighted him.»

So, was the light brightening her eyes only fondness of a friend?

«And – she added as if she hadn't noticed his inner turmoil – that was a relief. Nor I, nor Jaime could see each other as anything other than friends. Thought Lord Lannister seemed determined to have an in with House Targaryen. He even offered his daughter, the lady Cersei, to the youngest of my brothers, Aenys, who is two years younger than her.»

She fingered her little braid and played with her beads for a moment «Back on the topic – she said – I find it _riveting_ , as if its raw beauty could speak louder than any poem ever wrote. There is something enchanting about something so wild and free.» she added still looking over the hall but finally looking over to him too, a small smile on her full lips.

«I hadn't expected it – she told him – but it feels right, being here, in the North. Its coldness seems to wash away every worry.»

Brandon smiled broadly touched by the way she had described his homeland. Thought coming from the South the princess seemed to be truly enjoying the North and that was already a step in the right direction.

The silence between them was not heavy, it was easy thought pregnant, as if there was much to be spoken of and no real need to speak it at all, as if somehow it didn't need to be spoke of because they just knew naturally, instinctively.

After some minutes thought she spoke, she was fingering the rim of her goblet of wine – still half full, he noticed – and was watching her brother with a small smile on her lips «Thank you – she said – I cannot put in words how grateful I am that my brother was let dine with us this evening; he was clearly touched too.»

Brandon did not look away from her as she looked at her brother mingle with the crowd as if he was made for this type of company, she then turned to him and in her eyes shone unshed tears as she smiled at him.

«He is your brother – he said to her – he shall always be welcome at our table.» he offered.

She smiled softly at him and in attempt of boldness she rested her hand on his on the table «Thank you, my lord.» she squeezed his hand and was about to let go when Brandon turned his hand around and gripped hers back.

It was so small, and clearly warm, and his hand almost dwarfed it. It was soft, and after a first moment of surprise she gripped his hand back with a small embarrassed smile. He felt engrossed into it and just merely enjoyed her touch for a while until it lasted.


	2. Ned I & Vael II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another double chapter, the last for a little bit. In this we get a short glimpse in Ned life in the Vale and we see how Vael and Brandon start the first steps in their acquaintance :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the chapter, let me know if you like it! The wedding and first night will be told by Brandon POV so we understand better also what happened in this chapter when Chalot (which should mean something like "Fang" or "Claw" named that for the claw mark he has on his snout) showed himself to the princess and let her pet him and demanded her attention. 
> 
> He is of the North after all ;)

_Ned I_

_H_ e curled his hands around the parchment than stood up and quietly threw it in the fire. No one would have noticed him too if Robert's eyes had not been on him the entire time.

His friend sighed and came to sit by him offering him a pint of ale.

Ned accepted it in silence and Robert drank from his without speaking for a long while, then he set his pint down and looked at him with his penetrating blue gaze «What happened? Is your father displeased with you?»

«He might as well be – he muttered contrary – the princess Avaelya has arrived to Winterfell. She and Brandon will marry presently.»

«So?» his friend asked as he drowned what remained of his ale in one single long gulp.

«So I thought that with Brandon _happily_ married with the princess from the South my father would have left me alone about betrothals» he said unhappily.

Robert smirked «Let me guess. He didn't?»

Ned shook his head «He seems even more resoluted that I should marry the daughter of Lord Tully in the Riverlands» he said «he is determined that the betrothal shall be signed as soon as possible»

Robert snickered «You poor brooding sod – he said giving him a mastodontic pat to the back almost making him spit the ale he had just gulped down – I don't see why you are so grim. They say she is lovely and she looked lovely indeed in the painting they sent you didn't she?» he asked «besides, in the darkness you can close your eyes and just concentrate on her body if you find her face displeasing.»

And there was his best friend. A man of insatiable appetites that rivaled with Brandon's really, and who had a fair success with the gentler folk too. Ned could not say he had the same drive as either Brandon or Robert; he was the master of his desires and though he was no virgin he knew well enough that he was indeed a green boy if compared to either his brother in truth or his brother in heart.

Still, it was not that he found lady Catelyn displeasing – not at all, she was quite beautiful in a sort of comely way – but Ned found he thought she lacked something, he could not say what but though he was sure she would make a most esteemed and good wife he thought she perhaps lacked the fire he felt he needed to keep him warm in those cold nights that would come.

No, Ned was no Brandon. He had not received the same blessings by the North, which was why he was the one who had been sent to the Vale instead of his brother who had stayed behind in Winterfell.

Everyone had known since the day his brother had returned from his _lyet khamu_ , the ritual in which the Starks paratook as a coming of age, with his mastodontic direwolf that Brandon had the blessing of the North. It had been generations since there had been a direwolf in Winterfell and although Chalot came and went as he pleased he was often seen by his brother's side.

When Ned's turn had come he had survived his coming of age but had returned without direwolf and he had known. Brandon was full of wolfblood, while Ned had been nicknamed since childhood the Quiet Wolf, for he was less prone to anger and rage and liked to discuss things through instead that smash things around himself.

From that day on he had known. He would never be enough, not in his people's eyes, not in his lord fathers and although his lady mother was gentle and still loved him strongly she had been the one to suggest he was to go South.

He had felt betrayed by her too. The only one who did understand was Lyanna – but Lyanna was just a girl – and his sister had been his rock during the time in which he had believe to be worth nothing next to his brothers – Brandon was blessed by the North and Benjen by the Old Gods what with being a green seerer – he and Lyanna had kindled over being the _normal_ children of House Stark.

Lyanna was a girl and despite the fact that more often than not Stark women were green seerer or healers she was neither. Ned was the second born – neither meat neither fish – a sort of middle finger that stuck out awkardly in the North.

In the Vale he had found a place. Lord Arryn loved both him and Robert as if they were his sons and in Robert Ned had found a confidante, a friend and a brother of heart.

When news had come that Brandon was to be married to the Targaryen princess Ned had thought that perhaps his lord father would finally stop breathing down his neck about his own betrothal.

He had been wrong. If his father word was to be believed lord Hoster Tully had all but accepted Ned's courtship for his daughter – lady Catelyn of House Tully – without he even meeting the woman at all.

For his father it wasn't enough that his son would be now down in line for the Iron Throne should all male heirs of Aerys fail by being married with Aerys' only daughter; no, he wanted his son to link House Stark with a powerful House in the South and whom better than House Tully. The silver trouts.

A wolf and a trout. It was ridiculous.

A wolf and a dragon, now that looked like to have the making of a good song. But his brother had gotten than too. And Ned was happy if he would find happiness with the princess, for he loved his brother dearly despite everything; but was Ned destined to be forever second?

He would marry lady Catelyn, of that there was little doubt – he thought – and that would be fine and dandy, but Ned wasn't entitled to a bit of romance, of chase himself?

«If you want – his friend said – we can run away. Go to Essos, become mercenaries, live the adventure and leave all this talks of betrothals behind us.»

«What about Storms End?»

«Stannis can have it. You and me, my friend, will have the world!» Robert said gesturing around with a loud laugh.

Ned would have liked to believe him, but he knew better by now.

* * *

_Vael II_

_L_ ife at Winterfell was calm in a way her life had yet to be and Vael had found that despite her most Targaryen looks she fitted almost better here than back home in Kings Landing where all the courtesans had seen was a pawn.

The Starks didn't treat her as such even if she knew she was. She was a princess after all and that meant that she would never be seen as anything but a vantagious match. She knew this, and yet in Winterfell she had felt welcomed and treated as a human being.

Lord Rickard was clearly proud of having snatched such a match for his firstborn; and despite him being quite polite Vael knew types like him and she tried to steer clear of him since he did indeed treat her like a precious pawn he had snatched for his family.

Lady Lyarra and lord Benjen on the other hand were clearly happy to have her there and they often sought her out to pass time with her; while lady Lyanna looked to try very hard to either avoid her completely or trying to set fire to her by just looking at her.

Vael felt compelled to talk to the girl, but she was like vapor – one moment she was there the next she would be gone – and she had other things that occupied her time. Like the finishing touch of the ceremony.

No one had told her it would have taken place in the Godswood – the place where the northmen prayed to their Gods – and she had been tempted to at least ask that at least a prayer could be said to her Gods during the wedding celebration. But all those to whom she had tried to talk about it – namely lord Benjen and lady Stark – had told her she would love her Northmen-fashion celebration.

They said it too with such a certainty that Vael almost believed them.

She had seen lord Brandon alone only one time and it had been by pure chance. She had been in Winterfell library and the Maester of the Keep – the young man from the Citadel who had been present that first day – had left to find some parchments and tomes about Northern history as per her request and had left her to explore on her own.

Lady Shayra had not been with her by some miracle, really, as the woman had scarcely let her breath, neither was her brother who was most probably down the training grounds.

She had always been the kind of person who first _felt_ a book by touch so she was fingering the rims of said books all ordinarily put on their shelves when one had caught her eye mostly because it was written in a strange runic writing – at least the title was – the under-title read, in westeron: _House of the Wolf_ and she had tried to reach for it, but being no taller than 4'9 feet even standing on her tiptoes she couldn't grasp it.

Her fingers could almost touch it, but not grab it.

She was huffing and puffing out of patience when a strangely cold hand had set around her waist making her still; a moment later she had been lifted in the air as if she was no heavier than feather.

Vael had almost shrieked from the surprise but a deep, velvety voice had calmed her down almost immediately «Easy there, your highness» Lord Brandon had admonished her, she had blushed to the roots of her hair but had nonetheless grabbed the tome that had attracted her so.

When he still didn't seem to want to put her down she had offered, timidly «You can put me down now, my lord.»

«My apologies» he had scrambled to reply setting her back on her feet, Vael had found her balance soon enough and had found herself face to chest with her betrothed who had still to move away from her.

«None needed» she had offered back and lord Brandon had took a step back so that Vael could look in his face without craning her neck up. He looked suspiciously red in the face although it could be the cold from outside where he was bound to have been with hands so cold, and really his eyes were warm enough to let her feel slightly embarrassed and shy.

That day lord Brandon had offered to take her for a walk that afternoon if she so wished, with a chaperone of course, as being without would not have been proper at all, and so they had started to see each-other daily sharing long walks usually in the glass gardens of Winterfell.

Now, a scarce day before the wedding, Vael had finally taken courage in both hands and decided to speak about the celebration of their wedding to lord Brandon.

She had yet to be left alone with her betrothed after that time in Winterfell's library not that he had tried, and she meant to use their daily walk to actually try and talk to him about the fact that she would feel less uncomfortable if they could, at least, add one of two prayers from her religion to their ceremony.

Lady Shayra as always would accompany them – thought she complained constantly about the cold even inside the glass gardens – and Vael meant to leave her behind and have an one-to-one chat with her betrothed.

With lady Shayra bothering about the cold she and Brandon could very well shake her off with a small sprint, in those skirts Shayra – the ever perfect ladylike Shayra – would have many difficulties to actually follow them and Vael had every intention of talking with her betrothed on this matter _alone_.

So she had chosen for today walk a simpler gown – a single skirt gown – that would not hinder her movements when they made a dash for it. She had even braided her hairin a simpler way; leaving her face bare curling the frontal tresses back. And thought Lady Shayra had commented on how she was starting to dress like a Northerner now – and she had said so with no small amount of displeasure – she didn't seem to suspect anything.

Lord Brandon, as always, was waiting for her outside her chambers. He was almost as big as the door-frame itself and sometimes Vael didn't know how he actually fitted through the doors; he looked a giant for all that she was used to tall, slender men.

He was bulky and seemed to be only muscle upon layer of muscles. Yet his eyes were kind and often brightened when she would appear for their afternoon walk as they did in that moment.

«Your highness» he greeted her with a small bow. Vael smiled and offered her hand in greeting.

«My lord» he kissed her knuckles and then tucked her hand inside the cervice of his elbow.

_Us northerners do it this way_ he had instructed her the first time they had walked together to lady Shayra chagrin for no unwed woman was to be touched so in the South by a man, but Vael found his way to be warmer and she felt more happy than the stiffer way they southerners did it.

They started walking their paces matching despite lord Brandon surely need to slow down for her since his legs were so much longer than hers.

«How are you today, your highness?» he asked «the big day is coming.»

Vael smiled softly «A bit nervous perhaps, my lord. What about you?» she asked looking at him under her lashes «You are still in time to flee, you know?» she offered with a small smile.

Lord Brandon let out a full belly laugh. As in many other things she had seen that lord Brandon did nothing halfway. If he laughed he would laugh with gusto, if he trained he would give the one hundred percent – not that she had been admitted near the training grounds by lady Shayra for it was not proper of a woman of her rank – he seemed to be a fan of the phrase _go big_.

«I am afraid the memory of you – he said – left alone at the altar would haunt me forever, your highness» he jested back and Vael shared with him a small private smile.

«Oh I really would – she said smiling – haunt you that is. My ghost would probably murder you.»

Lord Brandon smiled too «It would probably be the most beautiful ghost to ever haunt a man.» he told her and Vael smiled brightly before blushing a bit.

«Adulator» she said «Do this kind of talk get you in bed with many women?» she asked using her conversional skills as they walked – she heard lady Shayra sigh, the woman had often told her that it was under her rank to use such tricks to get the information she should be given without pause because she was princess – but Vael liked a lively, good conversation and she saw no ill in playing a bit coy despite blushing to the roots of her hair for the way he looked at her after that last comment. She was shy but not without fire. She was still a Targaryen after all.

She was timid by nature, but that didn't mean she didn't know how to converse.

He rested his hand above hers – it was so much bigger and cold, why he didn't wear any gloves she would never understand – and looked at her intently, with such an intensity that Vael could actually count the specks of maroon in his grey orbs. The breath got stuck in her throat when he bent his head down to whisper, a breathe away from her face – so close she could feel him exhale against her mouth slightly ajar – his eyes passing from her lips to her amethyst eyes «Wouldn't you like to know, your highness?»

Like it had come the moment passed and he straightened back as they neared the glass gardens.

They still talked of matters of scarce importance when something attracted her attention «Are those?» she asked disentangling herself from his arm and going closer to the batch she was only now seeing.

Lord Brandon put his hands behind his back – and if she would have looked closely she could have seen his hands fisting as if he was forcing himself not to reach out for her – and came closer with a small smile «Winter roses? Aye.»

She turned back to him with a bright smile «I only ever saw them at tournaments – she said – and those were usually less bright than these» she pointed out feeling delighted as a small child.

Brandon smiled coming closer «They are in their habitat here, North – he told her – in the Lands of Always Winter and by the Wall they grown wilder, bigger and more vibrant still.»

Vael turned to him and he smiled as if seeing that childlike wonder in her eyes made him happy «You know, there is a story about a undercover bard, a rose and a Stark lady.» he told her.

«Really?» she asked and lord Brandon nodded fingering one of the blue petals «It sounds like a great story. Would you mind sharing, my lord?»

«It is said that a lord of Winterfell, Brandon Stark once called the King Beyond the Wall a coward – he told her and Vael listened in silence – so the wildling to prove his courage climbed the Wall and took the Kings Road getting inside of Winterfell disguising himself as a singer from Skagos» he added still fingering the blue petal but his eyes never left her «he sang all night and impressed by his singing abilities the lord offered him a boon, the wildling asked for the most beautiful flower Winterfell's gardens»

He was a great storyteller because Vael was literally hanging from his lips, waiting for the next bit of the story «So the lord gave him a winter rose since they were just then blooming. The next day the daughter of the lord, his only child, was found missing on her bed a single winter rose in her place. The Starks men and Brothers of the Nights Watch searched for the wildling and the girl for many moons yet without any success.»

«Then – he said – one day the lady was found again in her chambers with an infant son who would become the next lord Stark» he told her finishing her tale.

«And what of the King Beyond the Wall and the lady? Did they ever meet again?» she asked feeling like a part of the story was missing.

«The end of their story is quite sad indeed, your highness – he told her – I'd wish to spare you such a sour story.»

Vael frowned «I think you forget to whom you are speaking, my lord – she told him – I am a Targaryen I know my fair share of sad and sour stories, and this seems to be quite enchanting. What happened next?» she asked.

Lord Brandon studied her a bit then sighed «As you wish. King Bael and the lady did never see each other again, not in life that is, years later the King Beyond the Wall led his army of wildlings south and battled his own son by the Frozen Ford» he told her «unable to kill his own son he let himself be killed instead. The son brought the head back to Winterfell as a trophy and when he showed it to his mother the lady, whom had loved the wildling deeply, killed herself.»

Vael munched on it for a bit then nodded «It is a sad story – she said – but enchanting nonetheless, althoughI now think I'd despair if one was to give me a winter rose as a token of his love.»

Brandon inclined his head to the side and watched her closely «And why?»

«Their love was pure and true, but tragic – she said – I'd rather a plain daisy or any other flower for I'd much rather to love and be loved in return with small tragedy.»

Lord Brandon nodded «Yet all epic loves are tragic – he told her – like with queen Naerys and her dragon-knight.»

«I see you have studied Targaryen stories well – she said – yes, but I'd rather a normal love, steady and true, than an epic one that burns quickly and ends tragically.»

«All endings are tragic» he told her.

«Then I would hope for a very long and happy middle» she replied «than for a epic story that only feeds the bards purses and not my heart. I'd rather be loved and forgotten then be in a tragic story and be forever remembered.»

He seemed to be studying her then he finally spoke «It doesn't sound like a Targaryen thing to say.»

She gave him a small, rueful smile «It doesn't, does it? I am not the most Targaryen of my siblings, I am afraid. _Fire and blood_ does not always sit well with me.» she offered «does this disappoint you, my lord?»

He shook his head «On the contrary. I find what you say sensible above all else and we all need a little more sense in this life.»

Vael smiled «Even you?» she jested nudging him a bit with her shoulder. Lord Brandon laughed.

«What use have I of it, when I got you, your highness?» he asked out loud and Vael realized she had literally walked right into that and blushed the the very roots of her hair.

She looked back at lady Shayra shuffling about and looking mighty bored. She almost – _almost_ – felt sorry for her, before actually looking intently at her betrothed. She wet her lips and saw him follow that movement with his eyes for a moment before she asked «If I were to do something really not sensible, would you humor me?» she asked in a whisper, her gaze returning to the bored face of her lady in waiting.

Lord Brandon to his credit did not even hesitate «Always.» he promised, his tone serious, his face stony, but his lips did quirk a bit and his eyes shone with mirth.

Vael smiled and took bravery with both hands and gripped his hand tight «Let's get out of here» she whispered before she started running, her grip of lord Brandon's hand never wavering as he followed her lead almost without having to think.

At a certain point – but still when the _your highness_ 's screeches of lady Shayra were audible – lord Brandon took the lead, and Vael started to follow him. They left the glass garden and entered the Godswood for as they had run he had brought her there.

When they finally stopped Vael was panting and laughing and lord Brandon – bless his soul – looked as if he didn't even broke a sweat and was merely watch her with eyes full of wonder.

The rustling of the leaves, the wildlife singing in the background, the water running underneath the ground... it sounded, it _felt_ more peaceful than Vael had felt in her lifetime.

She turned to her betrothed.

«Well – she said when she finally had enough breathe to actually talk – I am not always sensible»

And again they started laughing. She puffed away a strand of silver hair from her face as she bent, her hands to her tights to catch her breath and finally straightened «That was fun thought – she added – I have not run away from her since before returning to Kings Landing»

«Were you a difficult child, your highness?» he asked suddenly looking a bit peeved if only in jest.

«I'll have you know, I was _delightful_ , my lord.» she told him in mock annoyance.

Lord Brandon thought did not reply merely coming closer, he twirled the curl that had escaped her braid around his rough finger and watched it as hypnotized for a while before tucking it behind her ear, following with a finger the profile of it.

«I couldn't fathom it any other way» he murmured, his finger trailing to her cheek and almost down the column of her neck; she felt the breath stuck in her throat. He realized only when her breath caught when his finger traced her neck that he had overstepped and took a step back clearing his throat «May I ask if there was a reason we ran away from your lady in waiting and our chaperon?» he queried. 

He was surprisingly gentle for a man of his imposing mole. Vael opened her mouth to speak instead found herselflooking around them. The winds rustling through the leaves seemed to almost speak and caressed her face too.

«I... - she tried when she felt lord Brandon gaze on her – so, this is the Godswood.»

Lord Brandon nodded «Don't you have one in Kings Landing?» he asked, his hands once again behind his back clasped tightly.

Vael gripped her gown with both hands so that the skirts didn't trudge in the fallen leaves and mud of the ground and started exploring the place «We do – she said – but it is little, and it cannot hold a candle to such a beauty» she offered «it is more of a garden then a Godswood, really.»

Lord Brandon followed her in her exploration as she looked around herself and started walking around as if her feet could carry her to her destination, still not knowing where she was going with her mind.

They walked for a bit and Vael kept looking around awe and amazed by the beauty of that wonderful place. It seemed to cloak them in warmth and acceptance as they walked around. Lord Brandon remained silent as they walked and suddenly she stilled.

A stony altar stood, proud and half covered in climbing ivy in bloom with small white flowers that seemed to rest on the flat of the altar. It was engraved with quibbles and runes and looked ancient, more than that it _felt_ ancient.

The biggest tree of the Godswood stood proudly a couple of feet from the altar, it was white branched and full of crimson leaves. There was a face engraved on it, a crying face covered in crimson amber.

«Is that..?» she asked turning back to lord Brandon, full of wonder. He smiled.

«Aye, that is the Heart Tree» he told her as she climbed the small hill that would lead to its roots «from its eyes the Gods see all and from its mouth they speak all.»

Vael gingerly touched the white wood, trailing with her fingers the natural engravings on the white surface «Does it really? - she asked turning to lord Brandon again – speak to you?»

Lord Brandon came closer, and he too rested his hand on the Weirwood tree as he looked up to the rustling leaves «Aye» he replied softly his molten eyes meeting her bright amethysts «They really do, although often we do not know how to listen to them.»

Vael nodded bringing her gaze back to the crying face of the Tree «Is that why it looks so sad? Would it be laughing if we knew how to listen?» she wondered.

Lord Brandon shrugged «I don't know» he replied honestly «Sometimes I feel like they do not answer.»

She merely watched him, feeling this was a hard confession for him, he looked back to the rustling leaves again «But, in the moment of truth – he said – they _do_ answer.»

«I am glad» she told him and he turned to face her his face full of surprise for her reply, he probably awaited for a different response from her «We may not follow the same Gods – she offered – but I can respect your religion, I can respect anyone religion. I wouldn't rule out that we may be praying the same Gods all around the world just with different names.» she added for good measure.

He seemed to be left speechless and Vael knew that this was the time, the moment to actually ask «That is why – she said – I would like to ask you something.»

Lord Brandon shook his head as if to dissipate some strange thought he must have had «Ask away, your highness. If it is in my power I will grant it to you.»

Vael smiled and clasped her hands before herself before stating «I am a Targaryen of Dragonstone and I was born under the Light of the Seven» she told him «I will gladly marry you before your Weirdwood Tree – she said – but, as I marry you in your way, I cannot in good conscience disregard my custom and my religion either.»

Lord Brandon was still silent, he did not look angry, so Vael continued «That is why I would request – she said – if you think it fitting, to englobe at least part of the New Gods ceremony to our marriage» she told him «Iwould not ask if I did not think it necessary.»

«I hear you, your highness» he told her «and you speak gracefully and from the bottom of your heart.»

Vael nodded «And I would gladly grant you what you request» Vael smiled «but I cannot let other Gods bearwitness of our marriage»

Vael frowned «Shouldn't including more Gods sanction our wedding undeniably?» she questioned surprised.

Lord Brandon shook his head «Us Starks... we are... _bound_ to our Gods so that to ask intercession from any other would bring calamity to our people» he told her «it is a hard law, but it is the law we have.»

He didn't seem to want to share more and Vael almost felt disappointed. Thought she was a diplomat at heart and readily gained back her footing «And if my Gods were not to be named?» she asked.

«What do you mean, your highness?» He asked, cocking his head to the side, his grey marron speckled eyes shining brightly.

«We could still do the ribbon ceremony – she offered – after the Northern way, we could bind our hands and recite the oath, without naming the Gods, recite it to the Old Gods in all faith and truth.»

Lord Brandon looked mildly surprise and fond before he said «I will consider it – he told her – I hope I can give you what you ask for.»

Vael smiled «Thank you, my lord.» She said, readying herself to trek back inside with or without him, she turned her skirt rustling the leaves on the ground when a noise compelled her to look up and she visibly paled.

The wolf was as big as a bear — as tall as a giant — and his fur was midnight black, a terrible looking scar marred his snout and his eyes were a deep steel grey eyes and he had claws as long as her upper arm though it did not bare them at her.

She still. She knew for experience with dogs in the kennels of Dragonstone that if she showed the beast that she was afraid it would pounce on her so she resolved to keep her breath slow despite being clearly afraid of it.

The wolf bent his head down to be of the same heigh as hers and advanced on her as slow as possibile, looking almost pleading, and when he was close enough he nudged _gently_ her shoulder with his wet snout. Vael let out a breath she did not know she had been holding and tentatively offered her hand burrowing it in the midnight black fur and petting the beast who set on his rear paw and let her touch and caress him as much as she pleased which brought a smile on her full lips, before the beast gave her a nudge with its head and she squealed as a babe with the first toy.

She turned, her eyes full of wonder, to her betrothed to find him watching her in awe, astounded and amazed by the scene before him.

«Is it a direwolf?» She asked but when the wolf noticed her attention wasn't on it, it nudged her shoulder again and Vael laughed out keeping caressing its head.

Lord Brandon came closer «His name is Chalot — he told her — and he is a direwolf of the North, a dear friend of mine.» He explained.

«He is your direwolf?» She asked thinking back on how the Black Dread had been Aegon's dragon.

Lord Brandon shook his head «He is not any more mine than I am his — he explained joining her in caressing the beast, his hand lightly touching hers as they carded their fingers in the soft fur — we are one, in a way. He and I, but he is of the North.»

Vael nodded «I think... I have seen him before.» She told him «During our travels North, to Winterfell, just on the border of the Wolfswood. I thought it a dream or a vision, it seems he was real.» She said immersing her face in the soft fur «He is quite the cuddler — she noticed when the direwolf let her do so — for a beast so frightening and dangerous.»

But lord Brandon was looking at her as if the greatest question of the world had just been answered right before his eyes; he smiled at her and keep petting the direwolf «I think, your highness, that we could find a way to englobe your faith into our wedding.» He offered, sounding more certain that he had but a moment before.

Vael gave him a blinding smile and nodded «Thank you, my lord.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always let me know what you think about it because I am curious. ;)
> 
> If any of you has noticed I have changed my icon I am afraid it is not for some animalistic purpose (like "do not kill lamb at Easter or turkeys on Thanksgiving) but a different personal reason. To keep it brief I was insulted under another one of my fic and I was told I had the intelligence span of a turkey, hence the new icon. I quite like it, don't you? I find it quite adorable. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought of the story and hope to hear from you soon! Sending all my love ~G.


	3. Brandon II, part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I had promised both the wedding and the first night but the chapter was too long and I have not had the time to re-read it as I would have liked but still wanted to get something out for Christmas. So here you have the wedding hope you like it and will be curious enough to read next chapters too!

_**Brandon II** _

He sighed looking up to the rustling red leaves of the Weirwood Tree. 

He had been up since the small hours of the morning getting prepared for his wedding. 

He had imagined - as a boy - it would be with some northern girl of noble standing who'd carry his children and look possibly as wild as the North was. 

Now, instead, he was about to be married to a Targaryen princess. A woman in truth with clear purple eyes the color of the pale, bright amethyst, pale ivory complexion on a moon shaped face with rosebuds lips and a kind smile, long hair kissed by moonlight that would cascade down her back in soft waves and shine as if made of liquid silver.

If even one doubt had remained after his mother had assured him she would be the right wife for him, it was completely gone by the time they had to be married. 

During their talks and walks Brandon had started to appreciate the princess. She wasn't just a pretty face - and  _ what _ a pretty face - she was gentle and wise and most kind, always kind almost unnervingly so. 

She spoke calmly and her tone was so full of pathos that one could do nothing but empathize with what she was saying. 

Brandon had admired her, her steadfast belief and courage to actually come forward in the place of his Gods and ask for her Gods to be respected too. 

The Gods had been touched by her soul too for they had made their boon to her clear when Chalot had advanced to her to be petted by her. 

Brandon still couldn't seem to wrap his head around the fact that the direwolf - bigger than a horse and just a bit shorter than a great bear - had advanced to his betrothed - his tiny, small betrothed - and had let her first pet him as if he was a domestic dog and then embrace him too as if he was but a small pet one may take as a companion and not a men-eating beast that could have eaten his betrothed in one swallow. 

She had looked so  _ white _ in contrast with the black of the fur of the direwolf that Brandon had almost immediately gone to his mother asking for her a very special marrying cloak. 

His mother had smiled knowingly and showed him the item already done. Apparently she had already  _ seen  _ it and was just waiting for Brandon to come and collect it. He watched it, carefully folded resting on the stone altar with the obsidian dagger and the silk white ribbon they would use to bind each other. 

"Nervous my Lord?" Roddick asked smiling at him with his blue eyes merry for excitement "You are about to tight the knot, no more escapades for you I am afraid."

Brandon could feel his own hands sweat for anticipation. He felt as if he was at a precipice about to be pushed down the darkness threatening to swallow him whole but on the other side he could see the light. 

"Well - his friend nodded- at least she is beautiful. If Ned was here he would suggest you compose love songs for her."

The mention of his absent brother made Brandon grimace. Ned had sent along his apologies but he could not leave the Vale yet, he had sent his congratulation and his gift by horse but Brandon would have still liked to have his brother near. 

"She will be here in a moment" his other brother, Benjen, intervened with that unnerving surety of his "And any doubt you have will be shredded." 

Brandon blinked "I have no more doubts." he told him "She will be a fine wife and a good lady." 

Benjen nodded "I was not talking of that - he said - You  _ know _ what I was referring to." 

Brandon did not but Benjen did not look to be about to articulate further, furthermore that crowd parted and finally she appeared, escorted by her brother down the candle-lighted path in the Godswood. 

Brandon found he would have wanted nothing more than look at the reassuring smile of his mother from where she stood by the left side with Lyanna. He knew she would nod her head and disperse any nervous question of his. But he found he could not bear to look away from his betrothed. 

She was  _ breathtaking _ . 

She had wore her hair down, in waves of silver moonlight shining in the dim light casted by the candles, only two small braids dangled on the front of her rich burgundy dress, beaded with silver beads that shined as small stars in her hair; the frontal tresses of hair had been pinned back by a circlet of pearls and riotous curls framed her moon shaped milky face, her rosebuds lips were pinker than usual- especially the lower one, had she  _ bitten _ into it to calm her nerves?, he wondered as he  _ ached _ to taste those lips - and did her amethyst eyes shine brighter? Most probably.

Her dainty hand was rested above the back of her brothers, white gloves against black - why did she wear gloves? - her brother escorted her proudly although certainly king Aerys had meant it as a slight for the princess to be given to House Stark by his bastard and not his true born son. What he did not know was that in the North bastardy was not a condemnation. 

True most Houses still despised the birth of bastards but houses like the Starks, the Mormonts and the Umbers who had at a certain point survived and thrived thanks to their bastard children did not see any slight in it. 

Even if Maester Walys had commented on it with a grimace. Brandon could not find it in himself to care. Not when she looked like moonlight cloaked in darkness come alive before him. 

As soon as they were near enough she sent him an hopeful smile and Brandon smiled in return before she turned to her brother with a bright smile full of affection. 

His father took a step, the kind swirling cold wind gently sweeping around them.

"Who comes before the Old Gods, this night?" He asked his smile broad when sir Blackfyre repeated the words that had been imparted to him for the ceremony.

"Avaelya of House Targaryen, princess of the Seven Kingdoms." Sir Blackfyre stated proudly "she comes to be wed - he added- a woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods." 

He took a breath and looked at his sister dead in the eyes before they fixed directly in his "Who claims her?" 

Brandon took a step forward, the gentle night breeze sweeping as if caressing his hair with motherly affection.

"Brandon of House Stark, heir to Winterfell. - he stated looking at her eyes, pools of identical amethyst light - Who gives her?"

"Celhaeno of House Blackfyre - he replied - her father's son."

His Lord father stepped up again "Princess Avaelya, do you take this man?" He asked.

But the princess looked directly at him smiling "I take this man." She said smiling softly.

She then turned to her brother as he was to let her go and took of her gloves slowly folding them properly and offering them to him "I am going to be a Stark, now" She offered as only explanation and Brandon felt his heart soar as she stated that.

By the Old Gods they were already married and that she would recognized that made his heart beat faster as she smiled at him while they came closer. 

Only then did they finally touch hands and his father bind their hands together with the silken white ribbon. 

They looked each other in the eyes, amethyst against molten maroon and Stark grey and softly they recited their vows.

"I am his and he is mine…"

"I am hers and she is mine…"

"From this day until my last day." 

Their hands gripped each other tightly as they said so and only a moment after did Avaelya,  _ his wife _ , turn around and took her hair and let it dangle to her left side exposing the pale expense of her porcelain neck. 

Brandon took the cloak from the altar and unfolded it in a sweeping motion as if it were real snow and wrapped it around her shoulders. The silver direwolf shone on the snow white fabric in the light of the candles.

He then took the dagger and turned it around in his hand offering it hilt first to her. She took it gingerly and he still held the blade.

" _ From this day _ \- he told her in the Old Tongue-  _ until my last day, may this dagger give you my protection when my body is away. _ "

He had taught her the words to say back and even if she for now knew only those she spoke them as if she was fluent in Old Tongue and he had no doubt she would be soon.

" _ And from this day _ \- she replied -  _ until my last day, may this amulet give you the protection of my soul when your body is away. _ " she recited offering him a pendant to wear around the neck in the form of a medallion. 

On both the blade of the dagger and the flat of the medallion was the symbol of everlasting love and faith. Two triskeles joined together with three cornered knots because they were one body, one mind and one soul. 

And with that they were married. Under the eyes of his Gods and of hers. Before all the North. 

When she had finished getting the cord around his neck, he strapped the dagger at her waist and smiled at her before cupping her face in his hands. He thumbed at her cheeks softly before diving in and capturing her rosebuds lips in a kiss.

Her lips were heated against his, warm and inviting - would she be so also? - and her taste was something that went beyond any comprehension. It was sweet and salty at the same time, and they reminded him of the fresh first snow of the season. 

That was how he felt. Full of wonder as the first time ever he saw the fresh, white snow above the roofs and torrions of Winterfell. 

Her small, dainty hands wrapped around his wrist, one, and the other around his arm as she kissed him back with such a sweetness that the rest of the world - he was sure - would start to sour. 

The clapping of the present brought them back to reality, they stepped away from one another- still in the arms of the other - and looked at the people. The few northern lords admitted and her household all with bright smiles on their lips.

Even Lyanna was smiling a bit with her cheeks red. 

Brandon looked at his wife - his  _ Lady Stark _ \- and she looked back at him - her Lord husband - and they shared a small smile.

In that moment a single snowflake whirled in the air before falling on her pink lips. Then another, and yet another one.

A small shower of snow fell, sweetly above their hair and those who were present would after say of how that snow was magical, a blessing from the Old Gods themselves to the happy couple, crowning their heads and melting in their hair, the same blinding white of the bride's cloak, a shade lighter than her moon-bathed hair.

Brandon took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers as the snow gently fell on them and a moment later, Chalot, the immense direwolf with the scarred snout and the midnight black fur padded in the freshly fallen snow on the leaves covered ground coming behind the new couple as great and mastodontic as ever, big enough to fit  _ around _ them and seemed to actually protect them.

Many were surprised when his wife burrowed her free hand and later hid her face in the beast black fur for comfort and warmth both and the direwolf let her.

From there they led the procession back inside where a lavish feast was awaiting. 

He helped his wife walk with the impressing and bulky white cloak and together they entered the Great Hall to be welcomed by cheer and whistles and happy calls. 

Brandon smiled and led her to the high table "Come,  _ my _ lady" he said leading her up "let's celebrate our wedding." 

  
"As you wish,  _ husband _ ." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always let me know what you think about it for I am curious :D come ooooon don't be shy and let me know ;) Hope to hear from you soon and hope you have a wonderful Christmas with your families and loved ones.
> 
> All the love ~G.


	4. Brandon II, part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised here is Brandon II, part II in which we will see the wedding feast (and their first dance together), learn some of Stark's lore about their origins and Brandon and Vael will consummate their marriage. It is lightly smut, so if you are not comfortable with it I suggest you stop by the partition line I will put in the chapter so that you know that from then on they will consummate and you don't have to read it :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! Hope you passed a good Christmas and Boxing Day, I certainly did even if I had to return to work the next day thought I am on vacation until next Saturday so good for me ;) 
> 
> As I have stated in the chapter summary there will be a bit of smut — very light because I am not really good with writing smut — for their consummation of the marriage but I will put a partition line so that you know when to stop if you don't want to read even light smut.
> 
> Hope you like this chapter and await your opinions on it!

**_Brandon II, part II_ **

«So, my lord, be sincere. How was my pronunciation?» His wife asked of him during their meal «Did I misspell any word?»

Brandon smiled. He had found that his wife was quite the perfectionist and when faced with the prospect of learning the sentences she had to pronounce in the Old Tongue she had wanted the perfect teacher and when she had understood that Maester Walys was not such a teacher she had come to him asking him to teach her the right way with every word.

«A bit too nasal — he offered — but very good for a non-native speaker, my lady.»

Calling her _his lady_ reminded him that she actually was that. She was his lady Stark. She smiled softly «Just you wait, my lord — she said — I will be fluent in no time at all.» She promised him.

He made a face and she arched her pale brows «You don't believe me» she said, but it was not said in a tone that spoke of heavy silences and lies, no, it was a playful silence, because her lilac eyes danced with mirth «I will make you see — she promised — and you will have to concede I was right.»

Brandon smiled, took her hand in his from where it was resting on the table between them and kissed the back of it «I cannot wait for it.» he promised. She blushed all prettily to the roots of her silvery blond hair.

He watches with rapt fascination as she eats and converses with him, though he is of little talk and rather watch her as she makes talk.

His mother stands up suddenly, her goblet in hand «To my son, Brandon Stark of Winterfell and his lovely wife, the lady Avaelya Stark!» She called and the lords and ladies assembled echoed her well wish.

His wife smiled and Brandon did too «The snow fell on them as a mantle! — one lord called from his seat, standing up with his goblet high in the air — Long live the Wild wolf and his dragon!»

«Hear, hear!»

«And have you seen the way the direwolf took to her? — another asked — a blessing by the Old Gods, I tell you!»

He looked to his wife and found her smiling although she did look a bit surprised by those wishes, he followed her line of sigh finding the reason for her smile to diminish. Her lady in waiting, lady Shayra Hightower looked positively murderous. He asked himself why she would look so, he didn't trust the woman — had seen her being too belitting of his wife so far — yet that didn't mean he wasn't sorry for his wife to have such a negative companion around. He promised himself to find his wife a good deal of Northern companions who would accept her for who she was.

«I believe — his mother said, retaking the word — that it is highly time for the first dance of the new couple.»

He smiled to his mother, brought the goblet in his hand to his lips and then set it aside as he stood up and offered her his hand. His wife took it without even hesitating but she whispered to him as they were desceding the high table that she didn't know many northern dances.

«Do not worry, my lady — he told her — northern dances are different than southerns» he assured her «All you need to do is follow my guide — he added — think you can manage that, my lady?»

«For only a dance you say?» She asked with a mirth-laced glance. He smiled to her, dipping his head down to press a kiss to her lips. She didn't kiss him back and the kiss was indeed too short for her to burrow in it, but she did smile to him after he distanced himself from her guiding her to the center of the hall of banquets already freed from the tables — that the lords and ladies had amassed by the walls to create place to dance — and he brought he closer to him, one of his hand to her lower back and the other grasped to her hand.

«I would hope you would follow my lead in more than just a dance, lady wife — he told her smirking when she blushed — why don't we start with the dance and we see where this leads us?» he offered.

She smiled «Very well, lord husband — she said — I await your lead.»

When the song begun it was heavy and the menestrel's voice was full of sorrow as he sung in the Old Tongue.

_Once, too many moons past, the Children roamed the earth_

_And Winter came and went._

_And the Men came around,_

_And the Men came around._

_Where is Snowdrop sir?, the Children asked,_

_where has the darken path led her?_

_Where is the son of the God with the double face?, the God to which the door is closed in peace and open when war is in place?_

_Where have they gone, sir? Where have they gone?_

They started to move when Brandon turned her rather abruptly to the side making her twirl on herself. True to herself she did not loose her footing and followed his lead quite easily as if she could read the next step in his eyes.

_The winds saw them dance, sir_

_The winds saw them dance, sir._

She shivered as Brandon held her close to him, so tiny and little against his much bigger frame, her small but womanly body pressed against his as the swayed to the music.

_And the Children said war, sir, they said_

_And the Men said war it will be, sir, the end they said_

Brandon turned around and wrapped his hands around her slim waist, lifting her from the ground as he twirled on himself, her burgundy gown sweeping around her in stark contrast with her silver blonde hair.

_The winds saw them dance, sir_

_The winds saw them dance, sir_

_Where is Snowdrop sir?, the Children asked,_

_where has the darken path led her?_

_Where is the son of the God with the double face?, the God to which the door is closed in peace and open when war is in place?_

_Where have they gone, sir? Where have they gone?_

The menestrel kept singing as Brandon set her on her feet again, his wife smiled up to him and Brandon bent down once again capturing her mouth with his for another kiss, but this time his wife was ready and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him back.

_The winds saw them dance, sir_

_The winds saw them dance, sir_.

They started to sway again with the flute and cords and the menestrel kept singing.

_And war came and war went,_

_And war came and war went._

_Where is Snowdrop sir?, the Children asked,_

_where has the darken path led her_?

_Where is the son of the God with the double face?, the God to which the door is closed in peace and open when war is in place?_

_Where have they gone, sir? Where have they gone?_

His wife followed his lead flawlessly as Brandon raised their joined hands above her head and she took the same steps he did, matching his with an easiness that should come from years of dancing together.

_The winds saw them dance sir,_

_The winds herald their come, sir._

_The door closed will be, and the Children in the Wolfswood will settle, sir._

_For Snowdrop another drop has given the son of the double faced God, sir._

Brandon twirled her around another time.

_For Snowdrop another drop has given to the son of the double faced God, sir._

_Another drop she has given, sir._

_Another drop she has given, sir_.

The song ended and the lords and ladies clapped as he and his wife bowed to them with a small smile. Brandon turned to his wife and she smiled up at him and he was so enchanted by her that he did not take notice that after the dance another tradition was to be followed.

«It is time for the bedding ceremony, I say!» A lord called as the others echoed his call and Brandon saw as his wife's face paled immensely.

«Do not worry, my _bumma aman_ » he told her «No men shall touch you until you say so.» He promised.

«I trust you» she said and it pleased him to no end when she also came closer to him as the lords and ladies started to come closer. As it was though someone had already almost reached for her and Brandon reacted on impulse, he wrapped his hand around the man's shoulder and lifted him as if he was but a feather and not a man twice his weight — for he was just as large as he was tall — his wife sobbed in surprise at this and he walked with the man held high (his feet just above the paved floor) before setting him seated on a bench.

He turned around — leaving the astounded Manderly to sit there looking as if he had just witness something impossible, which to be fair he probably had by his own standard — and addressed the crowd as he walked back to his wife.

«Now, my lords — he said — if you do not mind no one shall touch my wife but I. I am a wolf and I do not like to share, you keep celebrating I and my wife will be in our chamber to celebrate in our own manner. I bid you all good night.»he added for extra measure before bending down and whisking his wife up to his chest, one arm under her legs and the other circling her waist.

She was really as light as a feather and she giggled as he whisked her up, circling his neck with her arms as she pressed herself against him in such a delicious way he could not wait for when they would be alone.

Without saying anything more Brandon turned tail and left the banquet hall as the celebration resumed also thanks to his mother who had swept in and had suggested they all begun to dance again.

He walked with her in his arms up to his chamber but not even outside of it did he put her back to her feet.

«Can you get the handle of the door, my lady?» He asked as he adjusted his grip on her body. His wife struggled a bit but managed to turn the handle the right direction and with a easy kick from his booted foot they managed to open the door just enough for them to walk through. Once they had done so Brandon closed the door again with another kick. He walked a bit inside and then put his wife on her feet. Once he was sure she had her balance back he turned around and closed the door so that no one could walk in on them.

When he returned inside the antechamber he realized his wife was waiting for him as this was his space up until now and she didn't want to disrupt it by exploring on her own. He took her small hand in his and led her inside the real chamber «Come inside, my lady» he offered.

She followed him inside and he watched as she took in everything of the room, from the steaming bathtub he had ordered to be prepared and placed by the hearth for them, to the door that lead to his personal solar and the great bed with feather mattress. There were many wolf figures all around the place and his wife seemed to take it all in.

«I know it is a bit spartan, my lady — he offered — but you may choose how to decorate it at you leisure, after all I won't be the only one living here.»

She gave him a beautiful smile «It's lovely — she said — for an ummarried man chamber.» she amended «But I think, my lord, I will very much like to stay here.»

«These aren't the warmest chambers of the keep — he told her — but if you'd like we could easily transfer our apartments in those that were given to you. Those are the warmest of the keep.»

His wife studied her surroundings then she walked to the wall and pressed her hand to it. Brandon knew it would be warm, maybe not as her own chamber, but warm enough not to let the winter cold seep inside the room. She smiled.

«These ones will be perfect, my lord.» she offered, walking away from the wall and turning to face him with a small smile on her full lips «The song we danced to sounded very sad in the beginning, what story did it tell?»

Brandon understood she must have gotten the gists of it by her own study of the Old Tongue to learn the sentences by which binding herself to him, but had not understood very well the story narrated, furthermore she was trying to get comfortable by speaking. He offered her his hand «We speak better — he told her — if we are touching, I have found.»

She gave him a smile and took his hand letting him guide her to a chair as he sat and she stood by him «The story is the story of the origin of us Starks.» he says «we can trace our ancestors up until Brandon the Builder — he said — and even before that, even if just in legend. It is told in fact that Brandon the Builder was born of the first Stark ever, a First Man born of the love of a woman and a God; and his wife a Child of the Forest.»

«A God? — she asked — a Child of the Forest? Aren't those only stories for children?»

«I will tell them you said so — he chuckled — I suspect they won't be impressed by it.»

She blushed all prettily and Brandon continued «The story speaks of when First Men and Children of the Forest were at war with one another, and it recounts of the Children of the Forest starting the war because one of theirs, Snowdrop, had been lost presumably kidnapped by a man. — he explained — of how the winds saw them dance together because they were actually in love with each other. First Men and Children of the Forest warred because of this perceived slight until the couple returned with their baby, Bran the Builder, in tow. Then the war was ended and the Children settled outside Winterfell to protect the boy who had built it and that was their kin.»

«So it was a love story» she commented.

Brandon nodded turning her small hand in his and kissing the back of it «It was. Every Lord Stark has to dance it with his lady at his wedding day.»

She nodded «Thank you for explaining it to me, my lord.»

«I think you should call me Brandon, or Bran, don't you? After all we are married now.» He suggested and she smiled at him with her amethyst eyes shining.

«Only if you call me by my name too, _Brandon_.»

He shivered hearing her use his first name, the way it rolled on her tongue as if she was claiming him by just saying his name.

«As you wish, _Avaelya_.» He replied in kind, his wife's pretty face blossomed red and she smiled.

«Most people call me Vael — she told him — they find it less difficult to pronounce.»

«Did I misspell it?»

«No, you didn't» she offered shaking her head «I only know it is not the usual Targaryen name and many have difficulties spelling it.»

He nodded «It is not the typical Targaryen name, — he conceded — why did your parents choose it?» He asked curious as he led his wife to sit on his tight. She let herself be guided and adjusted herself as she mulled on her reply.

«It is a high Valyrian name — she explained — and it means _to breathe_. I had struggled breathing when I first was born» she told him «So I suppose it was a well wish by my mother and father. The Maesters were afraid I would not survive my first night in this world.»

«Instead you are here.»

She nodded «Yes I am.» She said «Suppose I have proved them all wrong time and time again when they were ready to have me dead for this disease or this other — she offered — I suppose I am too stubborn to just roll over and die.»

Brandon chuckled «You will fit right in with us with that attitude — he promised — us Stark...we are known for being quite stubborn ourselves.»

Avaelya smiled to him and it was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen «But... — she asked — why the bath-tube?»

«Oh, well — he said — I know that after a good feast I am quite sweaty and I would have liked nothing more than a good bath to set the mood for the evening» he said, before adding, deciding to be sincere «I know you women have to be the most relaxed to face the first night especially since you are virgins...»

Avaelya seemed to be astounded for a moment then she smiled «It was thoughtful of you, my lord — she said — I suppose my nerves were unjustified now that I see how thoughtful and caring you can be.» She offered before diving in and capturing — initiating it for the first time — his lips with hers.

Her lips were soft and warm and they did remind him of the first snow he had ever seen even if they tasted of the sweetened wine she had consumed that night and of the honeyed meat he had made sure there would have at their marriage feast.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her flushing against him, bringing a hand to burrow in her silvery locks; she sighed against his mouth and he took it as an invitation carefully tracing the corner of her lips with his tongue and waiting for her to grant him access inside of her mouth. Which she did almost immediately.

She was quite clearly not much experienced but Brandon could not fault her when she seemed to match his fervor with steady and sweet brushes of her tongue against his. She did not battle for dominance, she merely grounded him and in the end he was the one granting her dominance as she explored his mouth eagerly, pressing herself even more fleshly against him making his manhood harder by the minute as she mewled softly against his mouth just before they separated to breathe.

She was quite red in the face and it was clearly do to her own embarrassment as she sighed «My apologies — she said — I got carried away.»

Brandon wrapped his arm around her waist more snuggly and pressed a hand to her chin compelling her to look up «Why are you apologizing? — he asked — there is nothing wrong in getting carried away on our wedding night.»

Avaelya smiled sheepishly «I know you lords have needs, Brandon — she said — and I hope I can live up to those needs, thought I also know that it is a woman's duty and as I should not get carried away and just do my duty.»

Brandon blinked unsure. Was this how the southerns prepared their daughters to their first night? It wouldn't surprise him if they did so that said daughters would forever remain convinced they should not feel any pleasure from the marriage bed.

«I do not want to pressure you if you feel like this is only your duty, my lady — he told her — I wouldn't share my bed only for duty with you.»

She blinked clearly surprised «And what do you expect of me, my lord?»

«I would expect for you to get as much pleasure as I will from our marriage bed, my lady — he told her playing with a silvery curl of her mane — I will not force you for a duty you don't feel compelled to follow because of your own volition.»

Avaelya frowned «We are married whether we consummate our marriage or not, my lady — he told her — our blood is one now, our body and soul are one now. We do not need to consummate either today or never if you don't feel up to it.»

She scrunched her nose just so and it made him want to kiss her again, but he refrained trying to get a hold of his own want. This would be about his wife, if she was uncomfortable with sharing her bed with him he would not share it, not until she asked him too.

«If you are to be my wife in truth, Avaelya — he said — I want you to be so in truth. I want you to get as much as I do from our union. Whether it be physical or emotional. The choice is yours.»

She looked down her small hands and sighed before straightening herself in his embrace, she cupped his face with her small, warm hands and kissed his lips. This kiss was chaste and quick but it held every significance as she then disentangled herself from him and turned giving him her back and sporting her hair to the right as to expose the laces on her back.

«Would you mind helping me, Brandon? — she asked — I find I don't quite have the patience for this laces tonight.»

He shot up as if the chair he was seated on was on fire and strode to her, he caressed the white expense of her neck and pressed a kiss there before asking «Are you sure? I will stop if you ask me to.» he promised.

She smiled «And what if I ask you to not stop?» she mused, her amethyst eyes glinting in the candle lit room. Brandon gave her a wolfish grin and captured her lips with his as he made haste of unlacing her corset as swiftly as possible.

The red fabric of her gown pooled at her feet and she stepped on it as she took off her boots and pressed her wool wrapped feet to the stone floor of the chamber. She turned to face him.

* * *

Her beautiful, lithe and tiny body was carded in a ivory nightgown with a generous neckline which was held together by a lace knotted just against the junction between her collarbones; the fabric of the nightgown clung to her body and wrapped around her slim waist before cascading down her legs. She bent down and lifted up a leg, exposing the pale, milky expense of skin as she gathered her high wool stockings that were tied snugly at her thigh and dragged them down to her ankles and feet before discarding them, exposing her pale bare feet to the stone floor.

«You are overdressed, my lord, for our bath.» she told him and Brandon made haste to rid himself of his pants and doublet remaining only with his under tunic which went down hanging just below his crotch.

She smiled up to him and Brandon saw how her hands shook with barely contained nerves as she tried to unlace her nightgown. He covered her shaking hands with his and brought them to his lips «We have to do nothing if you don't feel up to it, _bunna aman_.»

«You called me that once already — she pointed out — what does it mean?»

«It means dragon of the moon — he told her truthfully — because your hair is kissed by the moonlight and your face reminds me of the shining moon.»

She smiled beautifully «I hadn't know you were a secret romantic poet at heart, Brandon.»

He smiled kissing her on the nose «Oh I am not, trust me, Avaelya — he told her — but my younger brother, Ned, is and he would have suggested I write poetry for you.»

She giggled «Well — she said — I would very much like to hear such a poetry if you ever got around to actually compose it.» she jested.

«Only if I can hear you sing.» he told her.

«You will not let that go, will you?»

He shook his head «I am quite stubborn, — he told her — and I will hear you sing.»

«Then — she said — I shall hear your poetry.»

Brandon smiled and rolled his eyes, she smiled too and he noted that her shaking had abated. She then unlaced her nightgown and let her pool to her feet when it dragged down her waist and Brandon finally could see her body in the candle light.

He had been right. Her body was a sigh to behold. Small and lithe, with an almost flat belly, small but perky breasts and toned legs and a very slim waist she was exactly as he had imagined her in his daydreams and more. Her long silvery hair hanged to a side and half hid her torso from him and though she seemed nervous she did not look to be shaken as before.

«You are quite beautiful, _bunna aman_ » he offered in a breathe «You do take my breath away.»

She smiled and tucked a strand of silvery blond hair behind her small, perfect ear «I should hope not, _ñuha zokla valzȳrys_.» she told him with a small, satisfied smile.

Brandon went to catch her around the waist but she turned — giving him the sigh of her most perfectly round underside —as she entered the bathtub without even looking back at him.

He felt his manhood hardening even more as he watched her half hidden by the water of the tube especially when she motioned for him to come closer.

He knelt by the side of the tube and — uncaring of the sleeve of his tunic getting wet — he dipped his hand in the water, curling it around her waist and bringing her forth to steal another kiss from her.

As they kissed leisurely Brandon started exploring her body with his hands, cupping her small breasts in one hand and stroking down the side of her abdomen — she was ticklish too, he found — to her thighs and trailing his fingers around her inner thighs. He watched her as she closed her eyes and just enjoyed his ministration until he stroked, experimentally her core.

Her amethyst eyes snapped open and she looked at him almost in panic.

He kissed her to quiet her protests before telling her «Just let yourself feel it, _bunna aman_ — he pleaded of her — let me take good care of you.» Though he did not move until she gave him her say so by nodding.

He explored her core without any haste, carefully caressing it before dipping a finger inside of her, helped also by the moisture both of her and provided by the water. She tensed at the intrusion but did not ask him to stop so he carefully moved trying to not give in to his own desire by just kissing her instead of devouring her as he would have wished.

She reciprocated his kiss up until when he started pumping his finger inside and out of her, moment during which she actually mewled making him shiver in his own pursue to try and control his own desire.

«Shh...— he nudged her temple with his nose — just let yourself feel it..» he suggested knowing she was most probably starting to feel the built up and she would soon experience her own pleasure first hand.

But she was panting and by the way her hand was gripping the tube it was clear she was about to panic, Brandon cupped her face with his free hand and nudged her to look at him, her clear amethyst eyes were blazed over and clearly afraid. He kissed her nose «Look at me — he pleaded of her — just at me — he told her — I won't ever hurt you.» he promised.

She nodded and he felt her starting to relax again.

And then she started to try and close her legs as he started stroking her pearl of pleasure because she probably didn't know what was happening, but she looked at him the eyes and smiled and left herself feel relaxed against him.

He realized the moment her pleasure hit her because she arched her back and let out a mewl she had yet to voice before sagging against the side of the tube.

Brandon pushed her silvery blond hair from her forehead and kissed her there as she looked up at him with heavy lidded amethyst eyes «What was that?» 

He kissed her brow lovingly «That, my _bunna aman_ — he told her — is what happens when the man is a good lover» he boasted «you women can be difficult to pleasure, but with the right partner you can draw as much pleasure as we men do from the marriage bed.» he assured her.

«The water is starting to cool» she murmured and Brandon smiled, without any difficulty he wrapped his arms around her slim waist and lifted her from the tube, setting then her to her feet, before wrapping her in a ivory cloth.

She let herself be wrapped in it and on wobbly legs she advanced to the bed on which laid her discarded nightgown. With heavy movements she re-dressed with it just as Brandon took off his own tunic. She turned around, her nightgown hanging from one of her shoulder leaving bare a generous expanse of her skin, a rose, perk nipple almost visible through the fabric.

She held out her hand and Brandon took it in his letting her lead him to the bed; she scooted on the feather mattress so that she was resting against the headboard and she just looked at him for some moments before her sight set on his manhood.

She bit her lip unconsciously and Brandon smiled at her «We can stop here — he assured here — if this is how far you want to go tonight.»

She shook her head «No» she said with such a resolve that made him shiver «I wish to be your wife in truth — she told him — I know it will be... discomfortable in the beginning — she offered — but I trust you to take care of me.»

«Always» he promised leaning up to capture her lips in a kiss. She kissed him back with equal fervor and Brandon just contented himself with kissing her even if his hard manhood was demanding attention.

When they broke apart Brandon left another kiss on her nose before nosing her neck «I would like to do something else before I take you and make you mine in truth» he told her «It will also help you both relax and prepare you for the breaking of your maidenhead.»

Avaelya nodded «Very well — she said — Do as you wish, Brandon.»

He smiled against the pale skin of her neck and pressed a kiss there before slowly make his way south on her body. She arched against his ministration but Brandon could feel her intense gaze on him. She was in equal part curious and scared of what was about to happen, and if the way she brought a hand to his shoulder blades was of any indication she was also turned on.

He wondered if down there she would be moonlight kissed as on her perfect brow, and in fact he did find soft moonlight silver curls still a bit damp from her bath. He breathed against the skin of her inner thigh and he felt her propping herself on her elbows to look down at him so he looked up and her amethyst eyes found his.

Without ever breaking eye-contact Brandon advanced to her core and watched as she cocked her head to the side, her slightly damp silver hair dangling to the side too as her chest heaved in anticipation, nerves and who knew what else.

He was gentle with her, despite his more basic nature asking of him to take her as wildly as wolf would demand of his mate. He tasted her bittersweet taste on his tongue and felt her go rigid as pressed her hands to his shoulder «My lord! — she gushed — that is highly improper!»

He looked up from his position and replied «Nothing that happens tonight or the nights to come will be improper between us, bunna aman — he told her — we are husband and wife and I refuse to leave my wife unpleased while she gives me my pleasure.»

He covered her hand with his, squeezing gently «Just let me try — he told her — if you find that you do not like it I _will_ stop.» he promised though it had been quite the feat for him to stop now to quiet her doubts.

He would do it too, for her, if she asked it of him.

He returned to give his ministration to her and he felt her starting to relax even if she was still as tense as a violin. Little by little he felt any tension outside of her belly vanish as she let herself be tasted by him.

If her kisses reminded him of the first snow he had seen as a young boy, her true taste reminded him of a cozy night as the snows storm outside of his chamber with a lively fire in the hearth. He was reminded of home.

He felt her begun to trash a bit when she was ready to experience her pleasure again, but while the first time she had been panicked this time the panic was less because she knew what to expect and though she still seemed to be a bit disconcerted by the sensation she let herself relax and when she did come Brandon felt her sag completely against the bed.

He then raised up on her body again, mindful of not crushing her small body with his and caressed her face as she came down from the afterglow of her pleasure. When her amethysts eyes were lucid again she turned her face to him and smiled softly «That is well and good, my lord — she murmured — yet I am still my own, and not your wife in truth»

Sometimes Brandon mused if she was as innocent as she seemed or if it was just a ploy, then he remembered that one could be both, because she would try to play a bit coy — and master it too — but would blush to the roots of her hair because she was still a bit embarrassed by it all and resolved she indeed was so innocent and yet so sensual by nature.

He had indeed lucked out.

The grin he sent her way was wolfish «You shall always remain your own — he told her — but you will also be mine. As I will be yours.» he told her.

«Well then, my lord — she said — make me yours.»

Brandon would not be able to tell how long after that they just played with each other, but he would be able to tell that when he finally took her maidenhead she was as ready as she could be and though he stayed frozen as long as she needed soon enough she had asked him to move inside of her.

He had quite the stamina, as many of the Northermen did, and he had the time to leisurely introduce his wife to the pleasures of the marriage bed, learning every spot he could he one single session, that made her mewl in pleasure or pant or moan out his name.

She was melodic even in her pleasures — he noticed — for never his name left her perfect, rosebud mouth with a discordant sound.

And when finally, both of them were spent, with him still inside of her Brandon let his head fall against her bare shoulder, left bare by her nightgown and pressed a kiss there to the lightly freckled skin.

He was still hovering over her, his manhood still inside of her and she meant to keep him there for she embraced him and though he was mindful not to crush her with the weight of his body he let her have this small comfort even as their sheets were stained red.

Together they laid like that, still united as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo here we are, what have you thought of it? Let me know for I am super curious about it ;)
> 
> Hope you pass the rest of the holidays well, sending all my love ~G.


	5. Vael III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vael and Brandon morning after their wedding plus they go to meet some people and she is given some sort of prophecy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! How are you all? I hope you are all fine!
> 
> I hope you like this chapter, I know I take a while to update but I do much research for this fic and so I hope you like it. We will see more of Children of the Forest, Giants, shamans, dwarves and such in the North and in this fic so I am trying to lay all the ground work for it all. Let me know what you think of it, do not be shy!

**_Vael III_ **

**_S_** he was woken up the next morning by Brandon pressing kisses all along her face and neck, pressing openmouthed kisses to the skin of her shoulder, exposed by her nightgown, he was half sprawled on her and she can feel quite clearly his manhood already hard against her tight which made her shiver as she remembered the happening of her wedding night.

Vael had been prepared for that night as most ladies in the South were, by her own septa.

Suffice to say it had been completely different that what she had anticipated all her young life. She had anticipated a cold, constipated night in which her maidenhead would been claimed by her husband — perhaps one of her brothers, but that dream had long since died; perhaps some high lord — who would find his own pleasure, pleasure she was duty bound to give to him without asking for nothing for herself, and be done with it.

Instead she had gotten a quite handsome and caring husband — which she had long stopped to hope of — who had made the whole night’s point to make her feel comfortable in her new role as wife and lover and that had shown himself for being yes, full of lust, but also caring and sweet with her.

Vael honestly had not known what to expect from him after what her brother had discovered on him — _by all accounts it must be some miracle he has yet to father a bastard_ — but Brandon had not been it. He had been solely focused on her happiness and pleasure the other night and when finally he had claimed her as his he had been as sweet as powerful and passionate. She had honestly felt as if she was the safest woman in the world now.

«Brandon» she murmured, her voice croaking due to the sleep, her husband raised his dark head off her chest — where he had started to nip at the skin left bare by her nightgown, teasing also a nipple from under the fabric — and his steel grey eyes found her amethysts one.

«Good morning, _bumma aman_ » he greeted her, smiling softly with his full lips «my lady wife»

Vael smiled back at him «And good morning too, _ñuha zokla valzȳrys_ » she greeted him back, carding her long, ivory fingers in his dark hair «have you slept soundly?»

He pressed his forehead agains the crook of her neck «I do not know what that means» and Vael giggled «but I slept as soundly as a babe — he offered — it was many years past since I slept so well in fact» he looked up once again and traced her face with one of his hands «mayhap it is you who make this magic work on me and help me rest — he said — maybe it’s just your soothing presence that gives me peace»

Vael smiled softly and he dove in, kissing her fully on the lips, no matter her morning breath, nor her being still half-asleep. He kissed her passionately and thoroughly and soon they were back as naked as the night before, actually Vael could not remember Brandon ever wearing his breeches again yesterday night when she had donned on her nightgown again to sleep.

«Then come to me — she promised — every time you need, I will be there» she offered.

She knew most marriages, especially match made from the families, were seldom happy. Some grew to respect each other and even love each other, but almost always they led separated lives and had almost nothing to do one with the other. She did not want that for herself and Brandon.

His eyes shone and he dove in to kiss her again «I will» he promised back «Only if you promise to come to me too»

And Vael could have said many a thing to that — yes I will — she could have told him, instead she cupped his face and kissed him softly on the lips «I promise» she offered.

They remained laid together, simply caressing each other, and though their passion after some time did lead to Brandon descending on her body, and bestowing his ministration on her again — though sweetly and carefully for she was still sore from their lovemaking the previous night — in the end, when dawn had approached since a couple of hours already they finally decided it was time to rise.

Brandon rose before her, standing up — and also giving her, without no shame whatsoever, a full view of his toned and muscular back and backside — and donning his tunic and breeches, Vael sat up and slowly, mindful of the soreness in her lower belly and inner tights, swung her legs out from under the sheets and the furs.

She found Brandon before her a moment after, as he offered her a dressing gown to protect her from the chill outside the furs and without the heat his body close to her brought.

«Thank you» she offered donning it on, as she stood slowly on her wobbly legs, Brandon caught her wounding an arm around her waist and hoisting her up in his arms.

«I think you need a bit of refreshment, my lady» he offered as he deposited in one of the comfiest chairs she had ever sat upon, he then turned around and went to the antechamber of their apartments and from there she heard him call for food to be brought to them.

«We should go to the great hall — she said — not stay cooped up, they will believe us rude»

Brandon let out a full belly laugh, a laugh she was growing to love quite much as it was true and contagious «Oh, my _bunna aman_ — he told her caressing her long silver hair — no one will expect us in the great hall for quite some time» he offered «us Stark men are known for our great love for our ladies — he added — we seldom let them leave the bed the first days of marriage. We are as wolves after all»

Vael smiled softly «Well, on this I will follow your lead, my lord — she said — so we are not expected for quite some time?»

«Aye» he said «But I would still like to bring you somewhere if you feel up to it, today» he told her kissing her brow lovingly.

Vael looked up at him and cocked her head to the side «Where?» she asked.

«Well if I did tell you it would not be a surprise» he offered «you are the next lady of Winterfell now — he told her — one day you will be the wife of the Warden of the North and that come with certain responsibilities»

«I was taught how to manage a household, my lord — she told him blinking — I was taught how to manage a _royal_ household, I think I am up for such tasks»

«I am not saying you aren’t — he told her with a small smug smile — hold the fire, _bunna aman_ » he added offering her a cup of water, she drank from it trying to hide in the rim of the cup her blushing cheeks. Brandon caressed her cheek with a thumb and smiled «I was talking of other type of tasks — he told her — tasks that are competent only of the lady of Winterfell» he told her «you shan’t have to take that mantle until you are ready, but you are also foreign, so you need to learn that things that they could not teach you as they do not know them»

She nodded looking down and feeling a bit childish for having immediately felt wounded in her pride when he suggested there were things she was not capable of doing; being used to be the disappointment of her family — not Targaryen enough, not driven enough, not enough strong — and seen like some kind of failure at being princess by the southern court she had automatically thought the worst.

« _Avaelya_ » he called her and she looked up at him «Look at me»she did, and in his eyes she could read no ill thought, no judgment and it was refreshing «You are not a burden here — he told her, as if he could actually read in her mind — you are you, and you will accepted for what you are. What you will feel comfortable in doing will be enough, for us all»

She felt so touched by his declaration that she stood up suddenly despite her still weak legs and advanced to him, she told on her tiptoes and brought a hand behind his head, bringing it closer to hers as she kissed him on the lips.

A knock on the door made them break away from each other and Brandon still kept his arms around her waist as he called «Enter!»

A maid had brought them two plates full of fuming oatmeal and some dried fish, she blushed to the very roots of her hair, left the tray on the table and —never once looking at them — excused herself from their presence. Brandon laughed again as Vael slapped his arm.

«You are a brute!» she jested «poor girl she was scandalized!»

«We were just kissing, _bunna aman_ — he told her softly — beside you are my wife, I may very well kiss you how much we both want no matter what the servants may think»

Vael rolled her eyes and he finally did let go of her as she sat back again and took one plate of oatmeal letting it warm her hands as she breathed on it to cool it enough to eat it. Brandon sat before her on another chair and surveyed the oatmeal before taking up the dried and salted fish, eating it before the oatmeal in ravenous bites, as if he himself has worked up quite the appetite, before setting his sights on the oatmeal.

They were in companionable silence and for one of the first times in her life she didn’t find the silence surrounding her pregnant or too heavy. She just enjoyed it.

When they were done with their fast Vael looked up to Brandon «So where would you like to bring me?»

«I already told you — he told her with a smile, taking the plate from her hand and setting it once again on the tray of food — if I told you where would be the surprise?»

«But if you do not tell me, how am I to know what to wear?» she asked and he rolled his steel grey eyes heavenward.

«Fine» he told her «Wear comfy clothes — he added — we will go riding and trekking for a bit — he said — you are going to come with me in the Wolfswood»

So, after having washed himself and dressed himself he kissed her brow and left her to her own devices to get ready for their outing. Not much time after that came a knock outside of her chambers — chambers inside of which she was being helped to dress by a few maids Brandon had sent her, gentle enough but clearly a bit awkward to be talking to a princess they knew nothing about yet — «Yes?» she called and from outside replied the voice of her lady in waiting, lady Shayra Hightower.

She stopped the maids for a moment — they were braiding her hair the northern way — and called «Come inside, Shayra»

The woman did come inside, her friend strode inside and stopped in her tracks seeing the two maids already inside, Vael smiled «Lady Shayra — she greeted with a smile — please allow me to introduce to you Jeyne and Daila»

The two maids bowed to the highborn noblewoman and Vael smiled.

«Enchanted» lady Shayra said, in a tone that suggested anything but and Vael frowned «your highness, what are you doing getting on your riding attire, you surely do not mean to go out riding in this weather!» she exclaimed and Vael sighed.

«Girls, may you please leave us?» she asked cordially «I’d like a few moments with lady Shayra alone» the two maids simply bowed and excused themselves calling her _my lady_. When the door of the antechamber was closed behind them Vael turned to her oldest friend «You were being very disrespectful, Shayra» she told her.

Shayra opened her mouth ready for a rebuttal but Vael held up her hand «I am not finished, my lady — she told her — I am a lady of House Stark by marriage now, Shayra. So the appropriate term to refer to me as is _my lady_ from now forth» she reminded the woman «and, I will most surely go riding with my husband today — she added — it is not too cold and I assure you that Brandon would let nothing befall me. We will go riding and exploring together to bond.»

«Surely you could do anything else but expose you to such a cold weather!» she exclaimed alarmed.

Vael sighed «Shayra I appreciate your care for my health — she said — but I have not been ill since I arrived on Dragonstone many years past» she added «I am no longer as prone as I once was to fall ill — she told her — and I’d like to enjoy a bit of the North as long as I can. I am to be, one day, the wife of the Warden of the North and what kind of lady do you want me to be?, the one that does not know her own country or one who does?»

This seemed to hold her tongue for a moment «Evermore you should refrain from reproaching me in front of my new people for they are bound to end up believing I am frail and unhealthy if you keep your behavior up»

Shayra looked down clearly properly chastised and Vael sighed «I am sorry, my friend — she said — but we had to talk about it at some point, you cannot keep to treat me as if I am child, when I am a woman grown and married now»

Lady Shayra said nothing to this and Vael sighed «Would you like to help me with my hair? — she offered — you usually make them all pretty all the time» she asked and she shrugged coming closer and loosening the braids and combing it yet again.

«How would you like to sport them, my lady?» she asked thought the new title did sound foreign on her lips and did sound forced, Vael looked herself in the reflecting glass for a moment and watched her shiny silver hair and turned to her friend «I’d like it simple — she said — perhaps even not braided back, what do you think?»

Shayra started almost immediately, she ultimately only pinned one side of her silver blond hair behind a ear with a pearl clasp and let the rest of her hair to flow around her face, she combed them with oil so that they looked almost completely straight despite having been puffed out for the moisture of the air around them.

«Thank you, lady Shayra» she said as someone opened the door of the antechamber without knocking, her husband strode inside and came to kiss her on the forehead before addressing her lady in waiting.

«Lady Shayra» he greeted «May I _take_ my wife?» he asked arching a brow, his tone clearly overstating the innuendo and Vael blushed as much as Shayra, only she shared in his laugh as the lady excused herself and he let out another laugh.

Despite being in such a somber place, Vael had found that Brandon laughed very much and wasn’t always as serious as he often looked, though she found that though his face shared the severe look of his siblings and parents he was prone to laughter as much as to displays of power and force.

«You are incorrigible» she mused as he offered her his hand.

«And you look very northern in your riding attire, my lady wife — he offered back — we’ll make a proper northern out of you yet» he jested as he helped her get up from the chair and donning on the snow white furred marriage cloak he had wrapped her in the previous day.

«Let us go, my wife»

«Lead the way, husband»

Brandon’s stallion was enormous — he must be to carry a man such as him — and next to him Silverwave was being prepared for her as well, Brandon led her to the horses, then literally just hoisted her up her mare by the waist, adjusting her white snow cloak around her, to make sure she is warm and comfortable, he had attached a great axe to his back instead of the sword she had see him carry around during this few weeks she had known him.

He mounted on his stallion and together they rode out of the gates of Winterfell. Riding with Brandon was something else, he did not go to the trot, he rode with the fever of the damned and she enjoyed the rush just as much as he did, though when they arrived close to the Wolfswood he stopped his stallion — which name is Winterstorm — and dismounted, helping her dismount off Silverwave too. Her cheeks must have been red for both the cold and the exertion and he dove down to kiss her on the lips passionately.

Vael wrung her hand around his neck and he brought her flush against him, his hands wrapped around her slim waist below her white cloak.

«From here on — he told her — we must procede on foot — he said — I hope you enjoy walking for it will be quite the long trek»

Vael nodded and he kissed her hand before starting to lead her inside the woods. The walked together as he shared tidbits of his childhood and she shared hers. Though she found, his were quite more happy than hers, though she could never say her childhood had been sad.

«One time — he told her as they were walking, still hand in hand and had been, at one point, joined by Chalot who walked leisurely behind them his imposing mole having no difficulties in the dense trees barring his road — my sister Lyanna sneaked out after us because she wanted to come to the Wolfswood too»

«I get the impression she does it often» she smiled.

«She does — he replied — she would love nothing more than take up arms and fight like the Mormonts women do, she has no talent to be a healer or a green seerer»

«What is a green seerer?» she asked confused and Brandon smiled shaking his head.

«Sometimes I forget how little you know of the North» he told her «A green seerer is someone who is touched by the Gods — he explained — they are wise men and women that can see things other people can only imagine, they can do things we can only dream of.»

«Like a prophet or something?» she asked as he helped her with a large branch hoisting her up by the waist and setting her back on her feet only once passed said branch. He shrugged.

«In a way» he replied «They have the ability to warg — he explained — to enter in the mind of animals and guide their movements, some of them can be skinchangers and if they are greenseeres they can see beyond, they can see what happened, what could happen and what is happening everywhere in the world, in this moment»

Vael opened her mouth in disbelief «That sound… _enchanting_ » she exhaled and Brandon shrugged.

«Ask Benjen how enchanting it is to be woken up sweating in the middle of the night because you walked on a battlefield while you were sleeping» he told her and Vael stopped in her tracks.

«Benjen is a greenseerer?» She asked and Brandon nodded.

«Aye» he told her «We Stark have a powerful bond with the Gods and the North — he told them — often in our family there are greenseerer, usually there is one in each generation — he explained — Benjen is ours, my mother was the greenseerer of her generation. She taught him everything he knows, thought she maintains he will be much more powerful that she ever was»

Vael blinked suprised «Your mother is one too?»

«Why else do you think they took to you so easily? — he asked — they had been bugging me about you for weeks even before the betrothal was concluded. They loved you so much and they had not even met you yet» when he saw she stopped in her tracks he walked back to her and embraced her loosely noticing her blush «Why are you embarrassed, _bunna aman_?» he asked.

«They bugged you, long before you even knew we would marry?» she askedagain just to make real sure and he nodded «Oh Gods have mercy» she exhaled embarrassed, Brandon chuckled.

«Though, to be fair — he added — you exceeded any expectation they may have set of you by telling me about my beautiful future wife» he added nudging her nose with his and Vael rolled her eyes.

«You are just being courteous»

«Not in the slightest — he told her — I never expected you to ride inside Winterfell that way, you made quite an impression on me — he added — I could not stop thinking about you for all day that first day we met» she blushed and he smiled «May we continue, my lady?»

«You still have not told me where you mean to bring me»

«You shall see in about…» Vael noticed him turning his back to the path they had been following, with dark leaves and smudge of snow on it and he smiled at her, and Vael understood that something was about to happen.

Then suddenly a figure — small and lithe and extremely green and grey — hurled from the trees and launched itself at Brandon with a mighty war cry, Brandon let himself being literally climbed by the small figure before grabbing its legs and starting running wildly as a dog to whom a cat had jumped upon, which was ridiculous and brought a gurgling laugh to her lips.

The two stopped their mock-war when they heard her laugh and it was such a full, belly laugh like she had not laughed since she was a young girl that she had to lean on Chalot for support and the immense, scary looking direwolf did nothing but let her lean on him as she laughed so hard there were tears in her eyes.

Brandon let whoever it was that had attacked him down and the small figure — that of a child she supposed — hid behind him, his grey-green big eyes peeking at her from behind Brandon’s knees.

She leaned forward and smiled «Hello there, who are you?» she asked kindly, offering her hand. The small girl — for it was a girl indeed — took a step forward. She was indeed strange, her eyes were bigger than any she had yet to see, and grey-green, her skin seemed more resistant and softer all together, it was nut-brown and resembled that of a deer for the damples of lighter color scattered across of it, this little girl hand, that she proffered to take hers, was only with three clawed finger and a thumb, she had long dark nut-brown hair styled as dread and ringlets and intertwined with leaves, vines and flowers and also some red berries.

«This one little warrior — Brandon told her — is Winterberry and she is a Child of the Forest» he told her.

Vael — having suspected this by her characteristics already — simply nodded to him and bended on her knees so that she was the same heigh of the girl who came closer, her hand still clasped in hers looking at her with her cat-slitted like green eyes, she brought tentatively her small clawed hand to her face — and she remained perfectly still letting her study her — then she gently touched a strand of her hair.

«You are very pretty» she told her with a gentle and ringing voice.

She smiled «Thank you, Winterberry — she replied — I think you are very pretty too. What are those flowers in your hair?»

«They are violas — she said sounding so very excited — they are the same hue of your eyes, you have hair of moonlight and eyes of violas, very, very pretty» she added looking at Brandon «Prettier than you» she told him, sticking out her tongue and Brandon let out a chuckle and offered Vael his hand to help her stand.

«I know she is» he told her as he helped Vael back to her feet once again, then he turned to Winterberry again and said «Lead the way, Winterberry I wanted Avaelya to meet everyone»

The girl started jumping up and down and took Vael’s free hand starting to lead them across the path in the forest.

* * *

The Children of the Forest lived in a clearing in houses housed in tree-trunks, above the branches and between the roots, there were at least thirty of them when Winterberry lead them to their village and they all resembled her in some way. A light white dust of snow had freshly fallen on their village giving it an enchanting look. Everyone of them approached them and the children — there were five or six of them — all tackled Brandon clearly used to play with him at length and when finally Brandon did turn to them — after having kissed her cheek before excusing him — starting to run after them in jest, the women of the Children of the Forest circled her, all talking in a strange dialect that seemed to resemble the old tongue.

«I am sorry» she told them «I do not understand you»

One of them — one who had snowdrops intertwined in her hair with acorns — took her hand «Sit with us, daughter of the dragon — she told her — sit with us bride of the wolf»

Vael followed her and she sat near a fire, the other sat, all of them crosslegged and Vael did too — it was a way of sitting she had almost forgotten she had used to sit when she had been but a child — then the one who had talked to her said «We welcome you, bride of the wolf — she told her — I am Mahonia and I am the Head Wife of our Chief, it is a honor making your acquaintance» she added pressing the palm of a hand to her chest.

Vael replicated the gesture «Thank you — she said — and likewise, it is a great honor to meet you all, I am afraid I believed you to be children tales…» she admitted.

Mahonia laughed «No apologies needed — she told them — people often forget what they do not see — she added — it was not her fault» she smiled and Vael could not help but smile back.

«We hold the Starks in great honor — Mahonia told her — they are kin to us» she told her «and now you are Stark too so welcome»

Vael blinked surprised «Kin?» she asked «You mean to tell me that the story about the father of Brandon the Builder and his Child of the Forest wife is true?» she asked surprised.

«You believed us to be myth — one of the others said — why should not something else you also believe a myth be truth?»

They all seemed wise beyond their years and appearances. She nodded «You are right of course» she nodded feeling herself blush.

Mahonia smiled and took her hand again «You will be the bride of wolf and the mother of wolves — she told her — are you ready for this?» she asked and Vael mulled very well on her next words.

«I do not know if anyone is ever ready to be a parent — she admitted — but all that matters is having heart and volition, so I think that I hope I have both» she added.

Mahonia nodded «That was wise» she acknowledged «Wise perhaps beyond your years, young wolf-bride» she told her, she leaned in and touched the blade Vael had attached to her hip — she had been told she was never to part from it since the moment Brandon had attached it to her waist the previous day — she traced the symbol with her long clawed fingers and Vael waited before she added «You are one soul, one heart and one body, now — she told her gesturing with a nod to Brandon who mock-screamed and dramatically fell to the ground as the children ran to him afraid they really had damaged him, which made her smile — and that has a meaning here in the North»

Vael returned her attention to Mahonia and looked at her intently «When Snowdrop disappeared we were very afraid — she told them — she was once called the _bloody wolf bride_ too and when also Brandon the Bloody Sword disappeared at the same time we feared the worst» she recounted «The Red Lake was named so because of his ruthlessness against the Children and Snowdrop was one of the most beautiful and beloved of ours»

Vael remained silent as the Chief’s consort spoke «She was so graceful and kind and gentle we feared she would have been abducted and would be mistreated — Mahonia continued — so we resumed the hostilities» she shook her nut-brown head «so many died — she said and her voice was so full of sorrow that Vael almost felt herself ready to cry —so much blood was spent that when Snowdrop returned her snow-white hands were as bloody as that of the man she had fallen in love with»

Those around them murmured «But her child» she added «her child was pure» she said «no matter what blood had accompanied his birth — she told her — he was untouched by it all. And he was destined to greatness — she turned and watched Brandon as he surprised the children with a surprise attack as they jumped on him — every Brandon of the line is destined to greatness — she added — whether by tragedy or by victory they are all bound to go down in history»

Her dark grey-green eyes fixed on her «To be by the side of such a man means being able to stave off the shadows that will threaten to overflow his light — Mahonia told her — are you ready to do that?» she wondered and Vael straightened her shoulders.

«I may not be a dangerous dragon, my lady — she told her — but a dragon I am nonetheless — she added — my breath may not hold fire, but fire cannot kill a dragon and I will walk on flames barefooted if it means staving off any shadows in his path — she added looking at Brandon — if I am to be the bride of wolf I will run with him and I will pray to the moon to light his journey through the darkness.»

Mahonia was about to say something but another voice interrupted them «All cute words — Vael turned and she saw a Children of the Forest alone, sat in the snow — they won’t cut a throat open when it will be needed» she added «They won’t stop bloodshed when it will happen» the woman looked sour and unhappy as she added «And _we_ will pay the price of it, as we always do.»

Vael blinked «Why do you sound so certain? You cannot know history will repeat itself — she said — and even thought you cannot compare something you have not lived with something yet to come» she asked.

The woman huffed «I talk this way because I remember. And I remember, _dragon girl_ , because I was there» she spat and Vael looked down before raising her chin and exhaling.

«Then I am sorry, my lady» she told her and the woman blinked clearly surprised «Because you lost them all too» she added, she caught Mahonia smiling from the corner of her eye, she then smiled softly «But I am not Snowdrop, nor I pride myself to be — she added — I am myself, and perhaps that won’t stop bloodshed from occurring but you can bet I will do all I must, all I can to protect those in need, and those I love»

The woman studied her for a bit and Mahonia talked to her in their dialect, calling her _Leaf_ , in a tone of both reproach and order but the woman stood, walking slowly to her, even standing Vael was almost has tall as her remaining sat. The woman continued to study her and then asked something of Mahonia in the same language, the woman looked between them both, then nodded, so Leaf unsheathed an obsidian dagger from her waist and Vael flinched a bit, the woman came closer and Vael steeled herself convinced Brandon would not stay and watch if she was about to be gutted by a mythological creature.

She had trust in her husband and would trust in his kin.Even in the belligerent one.

The woman wrapped a clawed hand around her wrist and faced her palm up then the just pricked her left ring finger, with the dagger stained with her blood she walked to the fire and dropped just but one drop of her blood in the flames, then she took a handful of snow and dropped it on the flames which extinguished as she observed the smoke provoked.

Then she turned to her «I will tell you something, dragon girl — she told her — this I tell you, you will be like the snow» she advanced to her «You either will be clean, and pure and enchanting or storming, dangerous and lethal. It will all depend on you»

Vael looked down and she felt Brandon’s gaze on her, she turned and gazed back at him. A moment after he stood up and still with the children playing and jumping around him he came closer to her and knelt by her side, he then brought her hand to his mouth and — before all those people, which made her blush worse than a maiden during her first night — he licked her ring finger clean of the blood.

«You are my dragon now» he murmured to her, pressing a kiss to her lips, uncaring for their audience «And no matter what, wolves do not turn their back to their own»

Vael looked at him from beneath her long lashes and pressed a kiss to his lips too, almost unable to resist «We will be in this together then; may it be passing through fire or ice» she promised pressing her forehead against his as he caressed her silver hair.

«May it be passing through fire or ice» he swore right back at her. 

It was Mahonia who spoke then «You will be — she added — and you may have to fight both.» and it sounded strangely prophetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are! I do hope you liked it, and let me know what you think of it :D 
> 
> What do you think of Leaf predictions and of Mahonia's. Will they have to pass through fire and ice? How will Vael presence change Brandon's fate?
> 
> I loved adding both Vael and Brandon with children, because I feel like Vael would be kind and gentle to them and the Brandon who could be able to appeal to his Wolfblood against whatever enemy could also be a great softie around children. What do you think?
> 
> I also wanted Vael to have a talk with Shayra because I feel like she comes from the right place, wanting to make sure Vael is fine and just doesn't know how to show it; and I feel like Vael would want to try and mend bridges instead of burning them in a moment. I feel she is just that kind of person.
> 
> As always sending all my love ~G.


	6. Lyanna I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna assists to something that should make her happy but she feels offended — she is still a fourteen years old after all — and her brother gives her a warning she means not to forget.
> 
> But who is her brother talking about? Can she trust this violet eyed people who have invaded her home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, how are you? Hope you are all fine.
> 
> this chapter is a bit short but it sets the pace in Lyanna's mind, we see her as a teenager (because no matter what she still is a teenager) so she does somethings an adult would not do and does not understand other things a mature woman would. 
> 
> Hope you'll like it, and please do not be shy, do tell me what you think of it ;) I promise not to bite you if you wanna say you don't like it ;)

**_Lyanna I_ **

**_S_** he was walking down the corridors of Winterfell when her brother cornered her.

«Come Lyanna!» he urged her «lady Vael is convincing father to let you practice bow and arrow» he added dragging her, his small hand wrapped around her bony wrist.

Lyanna felt her grey-azure eyes widen when she heard him tell her that her good-sister seemed to be about to convince her father of something she has pleaded for him for ages. If she could Lyanna would hold steel, but her father had been abundantly clear, she was a lady and lady did not need to carry steel, no matter what other ladies of other keeps of the North did.

If indeed her father relinquished and accepted to have her practice bow and arrow — he had denied her that too — only because _princess Avaelya of House Targaryen_ had deigned to ask it of him she may very well puke. Her father had never been moved by her pleas for her to carry a sword or to learn how to use bow and arrow, if he was moved by his good-daughter — a foreign woman coming from the South — instead of his own child’s word Lyanna would feel as if she was slapped.

So, despite the possibility of learning the skill she had so longly longed for, she didn’t share in Benjen excitement as he dragged her along the corridors and to the Great Hall, half empty because of the late hour of the morning, where her lord father and her lady mother were still breaking their fast and speaking with her brother and his wife.

Princess Avaelya was carded in a light grey gown that made her jealous — why could she wear her House color?, she knew she had married Brandon but that didn’t entitle her to wear grey and white when her House colors were red and black — a dark furred cloak hold together with a bronze snarling direwolf pin she remembered seeing on Brandon so many times she had lost count of how many. Her long silver blond hair were shiny and dangled across her back in waves she would envy was she a bit more vain, a single braid started on the left side of her head and cut horizontally her head ending behind the right ear, secured by a dark pin. She had flowers in her hair — winter flowers and winterberries intertwined at her crown-braid — and her face was as pale as the moon, of the same shape too, but alight with mirth and happiness.

She was shining and Brandon — the fool — was looking at her as if he was half-in-love with her already. A foreign woman with no understanding of the North, with no right to stay beside the next lord of Winterfell seemed to have him already wrapped around her little finger.

A northerner girl should have claimed that place — a Mormont, a Manderly, a Bolton, a Dustin, a Umber or a Karstark, not a Targaryen — standing by her brother’s side.

Her dark skinned brother — the knight on whom the king had bestowed the name of Blackfyre after the male line had died — was there too and seemed to nod at whatever the woman was saying.

Her mother was smiling indulgently at her good-daughter and Benjen kept shaking her arm as if to make her see how great this Avaelya Targaryen was for trying and talk their father to something he should have let her do from the very beginning.

«Thought I am sure I will not ever match the skill of a real archer — the dragon woman was saying — it was a skill I learned nonetheless, my brother was kind enough to teach me and he would be most happy to do the same for your daughter. A daughter of a proud House like House Stark should know her way around a weapon, bow and arrow, should be perfect for her to still maintain her ladylike composure» she added «Even better, I am sure archery would better her poise and bearing exponentially»

Lyanna felt as if she had been just slapped in the face. _I have poise and bearing you dragon-bitch!_ , she wanted to scream and claw at her, as the woman turned to her with a beaming smile on her full lips — as if she had not just insulted her gravely before her own kin, making herself appear better than Lyanna — Brandon too, at her side — twice her size — looked at her too with a big smile on his face, as if him too had not understood the underlaid offense Lyanna had just been served.

Her lady mother rested her hand on her lord father’s «If king Aerys has deemed appropriate for a princess of the crown to learn archery surely we can do the same for our Lyanna — she said — you know how much she strives to learn to fight. Archery would be a good compromise between her wanting to carry steel and you not wanting her to do so» she offered.

Her lord father looked to be about to think over the problem when the dragon woman took another step — Brandon gravitating around her as if linked to her by some kind of invisible lace — and made a small courtesy «Your daughter would learn much from archery. Patience, strength and precision. All skills much needed in the lady of a great House, my lord»

Her lord father seemed lost in thought so Brandon thought wise to give his input too «My wife is right, father — he told him — Lyanna would be very happy to learn archery and she’ll continue with all her other lessons too as to make House Stark proud, even more ser Celhaeno promises to be a great teacher since he had the patience to teach my wife who can be rather clumsy»

«You try walking around the Wolfswood in a gown, you big oaf» the dragon-woman said swatting his shoulder and making him chuckle as she giggled, her features alight with mirth «I should set Chalot on you for that comment» she added and Brandon leaned in on her to kiss her on the lips.

But Lyanna’s fell.

_She_ had gone to the Wolfswood, that meant she had been admitted inside the Children’s camp and probably had even talked to them — she had been privy to something not even Lyanna was — she had been given the chance to see one of the best kept secrets of the North, something so ingrained into it that Lyanna did not believe the North would survive without the Children, and to Lyanna it had not been permitted the same courtesy.

«Besides — the dragon woman said — Winterberry appreciated me despite me being clumsy»

Brandon gave her a kiss on the cheek «Of course she did — he told her — you are lovely how could she not?»

She saw that both her lady mother and Benjen looked at the couple as if they were seeing something awe-inspiring, while her lord father looked mighty satisfied with what he was seeing — as his match turned out to be better than he had hoped for — while Lyanna could only see a sneaking, dragon woman who had wrapped her mighty brother to her little finger as if she had done him some sort of spell.

«Very well» her lord father conceded «She shall commence the lessons of archery — he told them, before turning to her and pointing an accusing finger to her — but, if you as much as slack off in any other lesson due to any proper lady, Lyanna — he said — the lessons of archery will be immediately stopped. Have I been clear?»

She nodded, reminded by his speech of when Eddard had left for the Vale. _Do not fight boy, but if you do._ ** _Win_** _._ Then her lord father nodded and dismissed them all with a gesture of his hand, her lady mother remained by his side talking quietly to him and Lyanna followed her brothers and good-sister outside of the great hall of Winterfell, ser Celhaeno with them.

The dark skinned Targaryen nodded to them and made show of a bow «I will arrange for the lessons with your tutor, lady Lyanna — he offered — I am sure you’ll do greatly» he added, gently — oh so gently — as his eyes sparkled a dark violet. Lyanna would not say she was easily moved by a pretty face, but to be a dark skinned baseborn man, ser Celhaeno was indeed handsome and he spoke kindly to everyone around him and thought it was clear he had a soft spot for his sister he did not show to any other it was also clear the same way he was gentle and caring.

He was indeed dashing what with his coal black skin and dark amethyst eyes and Lyanna did feel her cheeks warm a bit when he bowed to her too before excusing himself and leaving them.

Her good-sister closed in on her almost immediately «I hope you enjoy the lessons, my lady» she offered with a small kind smile of her lips. Lyanna bit her lip tasting salt upon her tongue trying to rein in her need to lash at her for the words spoken against her as the daughter of House Stark.

«If you think I will thank you, I am sorry to disappoint, but I will not» she told her sternly and surely, her voice even as she looked in her bright amethysts eyes trying to convey that no matter what kind of sorcery she had worked on the rest of her family, Lyanna would not fall prey to it.

She looked taken aback by her reply and she felt Benjen’ eyes upon her as Brandon came closer to her, almost as if shielding her «Do not be disrespectful, Lyanna» he advised her «my wife went out of her way to get you what you wanted» he added «you ought to be grateful, for that alone especially after the way you have treated her as if she is some kind of hateful crack in your perfect life»

She watched as princess Avaelya’s hand caressed his back in a soothing manner, grasping then his hand — so much more bigger than hers — in her own looking at him sideways «Brandon» she tried «Let it go, it’s fine»

«No, it’s not!» Brandon rebutted looking right back at her again, his steel eyes holding so much strength and force that she almost reeled back. Never had her brother looked at in her in such a way «She is not asking for you to thank her, but _I_ am telling you to deserve it, what she did for you, from this day until the of these days»

He then grasped her hand in his, nestled it in the crook of his elbow and gently steered her away from her and Benjen. His wife did look back at her with an almost pitying gaze sent her way and Lyanna felt even more angered by her display of so called pureness that made everyone defend her when she had been the one insulted and attacked by her.

«Why are you so intent on hating her?» Benjen asked «she is good — he added when she turned to look at him — she did what she did, inside of there, for you. To give you something you wanted and she manage to get it for you, and you react this way?» he looked strangely older than his ten and one years old.

«She’s a snake — she told him — she will poison us all. She just insulted me before our own parents and you all just stood by and let her! Ned would never do such a thing!» she snapped.

Benjen looked at her for a long while «What is really bothering you is that she is adjusting far more easily that you’d like, and that she’s good, though I don’t understand why you should be mad about it. Wouldn’t you rather Brandon with someone good then with some random woman who has not her qualities?»

«What qualities, Benjen! You have barely known her what, a month? — she asked — why do you think her father sent her North? Because she had such great qualities?, no he sent her North because he wanted to embarrass us and he did it, only you all seem not to get it!»

Benjen looked at her at length «You should be careful, Lyanna — he said — not everything is as it seems — he told her, his voice strange, metallic and Lyanna understood she was standing before a greenseerer and not her little brother — and a beautiful face could hide a terrible and cruel character»

«You should hear yourself! You should follow your own advice» she muttered uneasy with the way he was looking at her. It was kind, but also strangely prophetic.

«You need to steer clear of those who’d seem perfect for you, sister — he told her — for a pair of amethyst eyes could bring you and our family misfortune» he added «not all songs are true and not all knights and prince and princesses are as the songs depicts them»

Lyanna felt strangely a shiver running up her spine looking at her brother’s white eyes — rolled backwards so that he could see what the Gods meant for him to see — as he kept talking to her «No matter what promises are made, Lyanna — he told her — it will all end in blood. It always comes down to blood» then her brother was back, his dark eyes fixed on her and his lips in a straight line «the greatest love sometimes is not enclosed in songs»

Lyanna blinked «I do not know what you are talking about — she said — I do not even like songs» she added looking over to him as if he had some kind of stroke or a fever because he had never been either this cryptic neither this worried-looking.

«You will» he told her «You will know, and when you do you should remember it. The greatest of love is not always enclosed in songs»

He excused himself without as much as telling her anything else and Lyanna followed him for a moment, then she brought a hand to her own lips.

_The greatest of love is not always enclosed in songs._

There was clamor outside and Lyanna walked to the windows to see what it was about. It looked like her brother had decided to let out his frustration with her against a worthy opponent — by the looks of it — as he swung his great-axe over his head as ser Celhaeno pars it with his own great-sword, their steps matching and as his wife looks on from the sidelines.

_Not matter what promises are made, Lyanna. It will all end in blood —_ Brandon swung his great axe around and ser Celhaeno ducked using then the flat of his great sword to try and causing him to trip over his own feet as they fought. Brandon did not loose his balance too much but was distracted long enough for the Blackfyre to wield his weapon to his neck.

The match ended as a tie — to Lyanna surprise — because as ser Celhaeno had indeed be successful in not loosing the match, Brandon had his sword pointed at his throat, he also was point his great axe at the groin of the dark-skinned Blackfyre. Princess Avaelya clapped as did those who had assisted at the match.

**_It always comes down to blood,_** Benjen warning rang in her ear as she watched princess Avaelya offering a cloth to her half-brother as the three of them talked, her amethysts eyes — **_a beautiful face could hide a terrible and cruel character_** — so violet and sparkling with affection and love fixed on her bastard brother — **_a pair of amethyst eyes could bring you and our family misfortune… it always comes down to blood, Lyanna_** — was Benjen trying to warn her that princess Avaelya would betray them all and that behind her beautiful face a scaly, monstrous dragon character was hidden?

She would betray them all if Lyanna did not keep an eye on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, hope you liked, that everything is fine with you and I await to hear what you think about it.
> 
> Who is Benjen' prophecy referring to? Will Celhaeno betray them? Will Avaelya? 
> 
> Or is Benjen referring to someone else entirely? Stay tuned to find out :D 
> 
> As always sending all my love ~G.


	7. Elia I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elia in KL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hello, how are you? Hope you are all fine, I am going to warn you already this chapter may trigger you because it speaks of miscarriages, so if you think at any point that you may not want to go on reading it, I have left a small resume under it in which it says what happened without having to read through it.

_**TRIGGER WARNING: in this chapter we face the tragedy of miscarriages and how a woman can feel after it and how a man in the medieval times could have reacted. So if you at any point feel as if you cannot read it I've left a resume at the end (after the last line) and you can read only that. It'll be enough for the plot. Sorry in advance if anyone feels triggered by this.** _

* * *

_**Elia I** _

_**T**_ he sun was shining over the Red Keep and yet Elia, princess of Dorne and princess consort of the Seven Kingdoms, felt only heavy of heart.

A warm hand grasped her shoulder kindly and Elia finally tore her gaze away from the setting sun on the Bay of Blackwaters, her eyes teary and her face ashen. She met the worried gaze of the violet eyes of her bestfriend and lady in waiting.

Ashara.

Her kind, worried glance made Elia remember everything, she had felt numb up until that moment, but seeing the pity and the worry in her best friend gaze made everything surge back, stronger and more powerful and a sob tore at her throat as hot tears fell down her cheeks.

She slid down to the ground and Ashara followed her down too, kneeling by her side as sob after sob Elia heaved out every tear, every hope and every disillusion.

It had been the fourth time.

The fourth time in three years.

No matter what Elia did, how many Maesters she saw, how many diets she changed, how many hours secluded in prayer on her knees she passed, it seemed the Gods didn't see fit to bless her with another child. Or rather, they saw fit for her to fall pregnant and then loose that bright hope her condition inevitably brought with itself.

It was twice as damning and terrible.

Why was the Mother so cruel? — she wanted to scream to the sky — why did the Stranger take every child she conceived in her womb away before Elia could meet them?, why did the Father saw fit for her to go through this terrible pain?, why didn't the Crone offer sage counsel to help her wary soul?

Ashara remained steadily by her side and hugged her closer to her slightly taller frame, her midnight black hair falling in soft waves down her shoulders, her violet eyes filled with tears too.

«Please, princess» she pleaded, her tone of voice desperate «please, do not cry»

But Elia was done not crying. She didn't cry when her husband held her hand during the first child she lost — almost five moons into the pregnancy — nor when her good-father commented on his only and first grandchild that she _smelled_ dornish after Elia had suffered the two last moons of the pregnancy bed ridden and later twentyfive hours in the birthchamber pushing out of her womb her daughter.

She had held back her tears when her husband suggested they remained in Kings Landing even when all Elia wanted to do was escape to Dragonstone — where her child was born — to be away from the unsupportive and disdain filled glare of her good-father and her good-brothers.

Rhaegar had already visited her, and though he had been supportive, he had also been quick in his visit, brought away by Jon Connighton, or by one of his brothers for one thing or the other. The first time she had had a miscarriage, before the birth of Rhaenys, Rhaegar had not left her side for weeks before she finally had gotten him to leave.

It looked like the continous miscarriages were starting to wear down on him too, and Elia was afraid he'd finally start to listen to all those voices telling him how she was unfit to be his bride, to be the mother of his children. Not even capable of giving him a heir.

She missed her good-sister in these moments. Avaelya was kind and sweet of disposition, but fierce when steered the wrong way. Elia and Avaelya had grown close during the princess stay in Dragonstone with her oldest brother due to her health problems. She had been a clever child when first Elia had put foot on Dragonstone and now she was a woman grown and wedded to a northern savage, all because her father believed her to be too sweet of disposition to actually marry one of her brothers, no matter that young Aenys — five and ten, just a shy two years younger than Avaelya — actually was quite taken with his sister in true Targaryen fashion.

Thankfully she wasn't alone in this nest of vypers. Ashara was her beacon of support through bad and good and Elia couldn't really be more grateful for her friend than in those moments in which everything went dark. Ashara always knew exactly what was needed to bring back a bit of light.

«He was a boy» she cried out, the memory of the babe, already half formed in the sheets of her bed, the screams of the Maesters as they tried to stay the early birth «my boy» she sobbed «my prince of Dragonstone»

Elia had been sure since the beginning of this pregnancy that this was _the_ boy. Her boy. And he was, but she had lost him even before she could properly mourn him they had taken his small corpse away, not fit to live and not fit to be seen by the distraught mother either.

She had been so heartbroken and furious because of it, that the sorrow of the loss had not set in her bones until later, when in the night she had found herself wide awake, unable to sleep and unable to do nothing but think about her babe, her baby boy, she had lost so early on.

«I know, princess, I know» Ashara said, rocking her while embracing her, and caressing her long c

chestnut brown hair, left to themselves frizzy and all tangled «But you have been prescribed bed rest, princess, we should listen to what the Maester said and be thankful that..»

«That what?» she snapped distraught «that I am still able to conceive but appartenly not able to bring a pregnancy to fruition?» the sobs tearing again at her throat.

«The prince has said—» she tried but Elia glared at her through tearfilled eyes.

«My husband is too occupied with his prophecies to look around himself and think about his wife, alone and abandoned after she lost his son!»

She loves Rhaegar and she knows that, after his own fashion, he loves her too, though not in the way a husband should love his wife, and more in friendship and kinship because they share Rhaenys.

«Your husband» his voice was cold, a hiss that made her shiver «Is here, and he is worry about his abandoned and alone wife» he added for good measure, coming closer to them, Ashara hastened on her feets offering him a courtesy, but there is no love in his purple eyes as he looks at her, only disdain.

«Go» he ordered «I will see to my wife welfare, even if I have to bind her to the bed to get her to rest»

Elia awaited, not even bothering to hide her surprise at his presence there, when finally Ashara closed the door behind herself Rhaegar came closer.

«Alone and abandoned?»

She felt as if struck and looked down at her hands resting, palm up, on her tights, she blinked away the tears.

« _ **ALONE AND ABANDONED?!**_ » she flinched and her spine went rigid as Rhaegar started to pace around the chamber like a caged animal «I am trying so hard, Elia, **_so hard_** to look past all of this, to not believe what everyone keeps telling me. But you are making it difficul, Elia. How difficult can it be to born a child?»

She felt the sob tearing at her throat «I am trying, my love» she tried but Rhaegar held his hand up silencing her «It doesn't look like it — he snapped — the Maester reccomanded rest and what are you doing?»

«I am grieving!» Elia screamed finally finding her voice as her husband turned to her, his eyes slits of purple on a pale ivory face, his silver hair in disarray «I've lost a child I have nutured in my womb for five moons, Rhaegar, what do you suppose I am doing?» another sob tore at her throat and suddenly Rhaegar was there.

Her husband knelt on the marble floor, his arms embracing her and his face hidden in the crook of his neck, his breath heaving.

_You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?_ , that was the Targaryen's saying. Their tempers could flare more easily than their seed to quicken in a woman's womb, and they could be flaming in their pursue for fury when angered.

And yet it looked like this time her husband's temper had flared easily but had also easily been squashed. Elia stood rigid on her knees feeling her husband's hot tears against the skin of her shoulder left bare by her nightgown. She was not as much held as he was holding onto her and Elia felt a surge of love for him.

Perhaps he did not love her, not in the way she so much wanted, but he did love her, after his own fashion and to Elia it would be enough. She had already lost so much she couldn't bear to loose him too.

«And yet — Rhaegar said, hours after that moment, his tears now dried and his purple eyes red for the crying — I have seen him, I have seen my son, the son you will give me. He had your cheekbones and your smile, but he was a true Targaryen and wore our colours so well... Elia, why?»

His purple eyes took a hue that almost looked like crazy and Elia felt suddenly chilled to her very bones.

«Rhaegar, do not think of prophecies right now, my prince — she tried as she felt the sobs at her throat once again — we just lost a child, you must...»

«I must think — Rhaegar said — and you, Elia, must rest. You have just lost a child, if the Gods are good it wasn't our Aegon, but another. The prophecy is clear, the dragon must have three heads, Elia, and you will give me those three heads»

Elia did not feel the warmth of his hands on her arms as he helped her on her feet and steered her to the bed, she didn't feel his love as she had the first time they had lost a child. She felt just chilled, because her husband was once again gone. He was already thinking of that damn prophecy and of how he was the Prince that was Promised and that he would have three children because the dragon must have three heads.

Elia wanted to cry, and she did as he put her in bed and kissed her brow, indifferent or not noticing her tears, Rhaegar then only told her to take care and rest and that they would try again and then he left. Elia was alone, once again and she felt as if the world had gone cold, not even the sun warmed her the same from where it hit her legs from the window.

So Elia cried. She cried for her babe, she cried for Rhaenys — her daughter who was now with her tutors — for the husband she had had when they had first married. For her Aegon, the one she would maybe one day bring in this world. She cried, and she cried, and she cried.

* * *

**Resume: E** lia has lost a babe during the pregnancy (almost at the fifth month) and she is grieving, Rhaegar half grieves with her half is convinced she will give him the three heads of the dragon and is also the classic man of the medieval times who thinks that the woman has any power over the birth of the child she carries. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, let me know what you think about it ;) As always sending all my love ~G.


	8. Brandon III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brandon has a bit of bonding time with Vael as he brings her to meet someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! How are you? Hope you are all fine! Here we are with another chapter in which we see more northern lore. What do you think of it this far? What do you think of Brandon and Vael?

_Brandon III_

**_H_ ** e swung his axe above his head and in a mighty swoop he attacked his opponent. The thrill of the fight sending ripples of strength down his spine, in his muscles, making him feel _alive_. 

Ser Blackfyre dodged his attack, parring the edge of his axe with his great-sword, the man wasn’t as tall as him, but he was leaner and quite fast though he was not his match with this particular weapon, even if Brandon would like one day to best him his axe against his spear and not axe versus sword. 

Celhaeno smiled between his panting as they came closer, their weapons drawn together as they tried to overpower one another. Brandon smirked wolvishy at his good-brother, finding in him the only opponent brave enough to fight him - even in a friendly spar - battling against his great axe. 

Brandon was good with Ice when he used it, though nothing was as good, _felt_ as right as the feel of his great axe in his hand. Well, nothing apart of Avaelya. The moment that, as a boy snooping around the armory, he had found the old great axe he had known that it was right, made for him. For Avaelya he was coming to feel the same very way.

He had felt drawn to her from the very beginning and though they still did not know each other well, Brandon knew deep inside that she had been designed for him.

“Ready to yield, yet?” he wondered jokingly. 

Celhaeno gave him a smirk right back, despite his darker-than-coal skin and his eyes being over three tones darker than Avaelya when his good-brother smirked that way he was reminded of the way Avaelya smirked every time she won a game of cyvasse with him. 

Which was _always_ , by the way, she was insanely good at that game. 

“Not on your life” they moved as if on some accord and broke their stance, taking each a step back. A small crowd had amassed to watch the sparring match and Brandon could see Ander Cassel - Rodrick’s father - pointing out the moves each party was making.

Lyanna and Benjen were both present in the crowd too. His wife was notably absent, but Brandon knew where she was. Celhaeno swung his sword to the side, in a sweeping motion and Brandon leaned back, his axe in his right hand, dodging the hit. 

From common accord they were avoiding the most dangerous spots since they were using not blunted weapons. Which would earn him a good scolding if his wife knew of it.

“Come on!” he jested “you can do better than that!” 

They circled each other as animals - the Wild Wolf and the Black Dragon - and Brandon smirked. He could see why Aerys had given his bastard son the name of Blackfyre, the male line was extinct and if someone deserved his own name, a _great_ name, despite his unorthodox birth it was this man.

Brandon leaned back and lured Celhaeno to come forward, the man propelled to him yelling and holding his weapon high, Brandon dodged the sharp end of the blade - felt its metallic bite against the skin of his face - just barely, though Celhaeno was dosing his attacks, then he threw his axe from one hand to the other, grasping it tight in his left hand, hitting the handle of the sword in the process and knocking the weapon away from his opponent’s hand. When Celhaeno’s eyes bulged he knew his good-brother had understood his game. So taken he was by their spar that he had failed to notice that Brandon - a leftie - had changed his hold after having attacked him the last time to his right hand. Brandon smirked and held Celhaeno’s left wrist in his right hand and proceeded to press the blade of his great axe against his neck, his good-brother’s right hand still up in the air with this sword fallen to the ground.

“Yield”

Celhaeno rolled his eyes “Yes, fine. I yield, you win this round” Brandon smirked and let go of him as the crowd applauded. They shook hands.

“You big oaf!” Celhaeno said “you are as strong as a giant, you are.”

Brandon’s smile was bright and happy “You could pay me no better compliment, brother” he nodded patting his shoulder for good measure “for even mountains must bend to giant’s strength” he told him. 

Celhaeno rolled his eyes, as far as he was concerned all the mythycal creatures of which Brandon talked about were just that myths and legends. Brandon knew that one day his good-brother would be in for a big surprise, namely during the harvest festival when finally it came, when all the people of the North - may they be Children, Giants, Shamans, Dwarves or human, gathered at Winterfell to celebrate the end of winter.

_Winter is coming,_ House Stark’s words recitated and Brandon knew full well how important it was to remember that. Lyanna came closer her bow in hand and Brandon smirked, despite her initial protests his sister had grown rather fond of her archery lessons and had even thanked his wife in the end. Brandon knew Lyanna had her reasons to fell as she did.

It was not that she didn’t like his wife - though she had made her displeasure of her widely known, convinced as she was that Avaelya would betray them - the root of her displeasure sat with the fact that she held no link to the North, or better yet, not a manifest link to it.

The women of House Stark usually were either greenseerers or healers, or both - like their mother - but Lyanna had not inherited a single one of their mother capacities. The male of House Stark were different, no matter how strongly they were connected with the land they had to undergo an initiation in the Wolfswood, the North could either choose them as its protectors (at whatever degree it chose) or it could send them back as its son. Lyanna was Winterfell’s daughter and yet she was not a healer and not a greenseerer, she also wasn’t a man so she couldn’t undergo the initiation and bind herself to the North as a warrior as she desired to. The fact that a stranger, a southerner could be a part of the rituals of House Stark and the North when the daughter of Winterfell was hindered to do the same made her feel like an outsider. 

He missed Ned in these moments. Brandon understood Lyanna but couldn’t relate - as she often reminded him - since he had returned from his initiation the chosen protector of the North with a direwolf in tow. Ned was different, he was quiet and kind and he too felt like an outsider most of the time, which made him and Lyanna stick together as close as thieves.

Benjen too loved Lya dearly, and yet he too couldn’t relate since he was the best greenseerer seen in the last century maybe even longer, so connected to the Gods that he had stared warging and greenseering at the same time he had started to walk. 

“Someone looks to be here for you, Celhaeno” he said with a smile as Lyanna came closer a bit pink on her cheeks. Brandon rolled his eyes. He loves his sister but she sometimes could be an hopeless romantic, just as she could be so stubborn she’d rather arm herself and head into battle instead that into a knitting lesson. 

“Lady Lyanna” he bowed slightly and Brandon smirked seeing his sister’s cheek redden even more for a moment.

“Ser Blackfyre, how many times must I tell you to call me Lyanna?” she admonished “we are kin after all” 

Brandon almost choked on the gulp of water he was drinking. Oh, so when it was of convenience they were kin, weren’t they?, he mused just in time to turn and see his wife descend the steps from the keep and to the training yard, looking puffed out with a murderous lady Shayra in tow.

_Oh for the Old Gods’ sake_.

His wife, as always looked a vision, she was clad in a simple woolen light purple dress with grey and blue inserts, she had braided her moonlight hair in two tresses weaved simply, one falling on her front and dangling to her waist - at which she had attached the dagger he had given her during their wedding - the other falling down her back, a couple of ringlets of liquid moonlight falling around her face and framing it gently. A bulky, fur lined cloak was wrapped around her lithe form.

He exchanged a look with his good-brother as they watched lady Shayra shadow his wife’s every step trying and failing to convince her to stay inside.

“You’ll get sick in this weather if you stay in the wilderness for three nights!” lady Shayra tried but his wife didn’t slow down until she was in reach for him, Brandon opened one arm and she stepped into his warmth, her fur lined cloak bulkning her so that she almost had difficulty moving wihout having to adjust it every few moments. 

“What seems to be the problem, my lady?” he whispered to her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. Her amethys eyes became slits of purple as she looked at her friend.

“Nothing much, _ñuha zokla valzȳrys_ ” she told him “lady Shayra is oversharing and over-worrying as usual. Are you ready to go?”

His wife could be as sweet as the sweetest honey but also as fiery as the fire in her House words. Perhpas he ough to think his Targaryen kin mighty stupid because despite her being sweet and caring there was Fire and Blood in her too, only - Brandon though - now, as she stood in his arms, there was not only dragon in her, there was also wolf.

“I am, my _bunna aman_. Did you pack everything we might need?” 

They were ignoring the fuming lady in waiting on purpose and Benjen rolled his eyes trying to strike a conversation with the woman, trying to assure her they would be fine, that he had seen it. 

“I don’t care what your herbs and magic have made you seen, my lord - she snapped - you weren’t there when her highness was ill, **_I_ ** was. But if she is determined to be stubborn then I’ll have no other choice but oblige, but do not come to me to cry when she’ll fall ill” she added, making an hasty courtesy and leaving. 

Avaelya sighed. 

“You should send her back South” Celhaeno offered “the North is not a fit place for her” he added “she’ll never acclimate here”

Avaelya sighed again “I’d rather she just accepted it all” she said “but this cannot go on forever - she added - I am giving her time, in respect of all the years she served me, but if this does not end promptly I’ll have no choice but send her back South, indeed”

Celheaeno snorted “I know she was a good friend to you” he offered “but you forget she was doing her job, it wasn’t a natural-stricken friendship - he reminded her - she was sent by your mother to your side.”

“That does not stain the frienship we cultivated in the years that came after” Avaelya protested “I shall give her time, she just needs to acclimate.”

“She is welcome in the North” Brandon assured her “as long as you wish for her to be, the day you have had enough, my _bunna aman_ , she’s out of it. No questions asked”

His wife nodded “She’s started to pass sometimes with Maester Walys, I think he appeases to her southern tastes with his way of speech and behavior, mayhap he’ll help her to acclimate here just fine” she offered though by her expression it was clear she wasn’t so sure.

Brandon knew his wife didn’t entirely trust Maester Walys, who she found creepy, but perhaps she was right and he would help her friend to acclimate to the North and its people. 

Brandon took her small white-gloved hand in his “Shall we go, my lady?” he offered and she smiled.

“Please” she breathed out “I am eager for a bit of adventure, my lord”

Brandon smiled “And so a bit of adventure I shall give to you, my wife” he promised as the excused themselves and moved to the stables. 

His wife was kind and caring, easily incensed and stubborn as a mule, he had found, but she could also be adventorous, in a woman-like way. She didn’t have perhaps the courage to ride into battle and fight, but she had the courage to stand back and see care for all the rest, to stay back and wait it took the same amount of courage then riding head first into danger. 

He had not noticed before but there were winterberries braided in her moonlight hair, a gift from Winterberry who his wife had grown impossibly close to since the first time Brandon had introduced her to the Children of the Forest living not far away from Winterfell. He knew Avaelya often spent long afternoons in the Children’s village and Brandon could not be more happy about it than he was.

“Why Silverwave was not prepared?” Avaelya asked frowing seeing only his stallion being prepared. 

Brandon gave her a smile “Well - he said - I would have liked for us to ride together, my _bunna aman_ ” he offered “but if it hurts your sensibilities…” 

Her cheek reddened “My apologies, _ñuha zokla valzȳrys”_ she offered back “but will we be fine with only one horse?” she muttered. 

“We’ll be fine, my _bunna aman_ ” he promised caressing her cheek and diving in for a kiss “I made this journey many a time, always alone and often on foot - he told her - we’ll be fine. I promise”

“And I believe you.”

He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her off the ground, bulky cloak and all, setting her on the stallion as if she was as light as a feather, which she was - young lord Manderly was thrice as big as his wife and still Brandon had had no problem whatsoever to lift him off the ground and set him straight when he had called for the bedding ceremony - he adjusted her cloak around her legs, legs she had both swung on the same side before mounting right behind her, swinging his cloak around both of them to keep her warmer still, he embraced her lithe form to his chest as he took hold of the rein.

He turned to Rodrick Cassel who had come closer to them “We’ll be back in a couple of days” he offered.

His friend nodded “Give my regards to Eìru” 

Brandon nodded “Will do” he promised with a smirk, before setting off to their journey. 

As they were riding in the white great expanse of the North they talked about their childhoods.

“Were you a terrible child?” he wondered after she had recounted of that time she had sneaked away from her lessons - she already knew half of it by heart - and pass the guards and had gone in the streets of Kings Landing. Her little adventure had costed her being grounded for months, but she had found her older brother, Rhaegar singing in the streets with ser Barristan Selmy as a guard and had hanged out with them as the people of Kings Landing watched their prince and princess. Rhaegar had not been particulary impressed by her little stunt especially since every Targaryen was highly afraid for Avaelya who was still small for her age and of too fragile disposition. 

“I was delightful” she protested “I was always dutiful and did what was asked of me” she defended “but sometime I just wanted to escape, to _see_ ” 

“You were a happy child” he smiled pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I was” she nodded “it’s surprising, really - she said - because my family is not the most happy there is, but I was a happy child, especially after Aenys was born. They started laying a bit off me when he was born, the fourth son and prince. I know things got rough when Celhaeno was presented to court, my mother had known nothing of his existance until that point and she learned father had a bastard son raised in secret to whom he bestowned the name of Blackfyre” she added “she was furious” she added “Blackfyre an Targaryens do not usually live in harmony, she was afraid Celhaeno would ask for my hand in marriage or try and unthrone his father and her sons”

Brandon nodded against her head, so she went on “Imagine her surprise when Celhaeno unsheated his sword there and then before the whole court swearing his alliagiance to his brothers and promising to never seek the throne for himself - she said - even more when he turned to me, freshly returned from Dragonstone and bend the knee offering to be my sworn shield” 

“I appreciate his guts to do so” Brandon offered.

Avaelya nodded “Useless to say father was furious - she said - Rhaegar had yet to have an heir, Elia had born him only Rhaenys who my father complained _smelled dornish_ and he was already seeking to find an alternative heir in one of my brothers and to be sure he had also given Celhaeno that name so that he may one day if it came to that design him as his heir and my brother had just thrown out of the window his careful planning”

“They haven’t spoken since” she added “not that Celhaeno is heartbroken over it - she offered - he can’t stand our father much. He despises the way father treats others, especially women. He never forgave him for the way he casted aside his mother and then tried to use him”

Chalot was walking leisurely at their side and he pressed his massive, scarred snout against Avaelya hand in a show of comfort and she smiled sadly. 

“And you?” he asked “how was your father to you?”

“Distant, but good before I went away to Dragonstone, though I don’t think he ever forgave me for not being _enough_ for his sons - she said - when I returned to court he was… _different_. He would not let anyone close to him and he was prone to fits of anger - she added - he made me afraid, I kept my distance as much as I could”

Seeing how much this was wearing on her Brandon changed tactics “Once” he told her “me and Ned decided to play a prank on Lya and mother - he said - Benjen was too little at the time, still a babe in her arms and Lya was four, I think.”

She was listening in rapt fascination “So - he said - we invited her out on the day of the nameday and prepared for her and Lya a small picnic” he told her, her eyes where shining with mirth as he recounted her the story “they eat happily and all and we had prepared this snow-trap using a branch of the tree under which we were eating and Rodrick was hidden with the cord with which he would move the branch and let the snow we had collected on it fall on mother and Lya’s heads”

“You were a meanace you mean” she giggled softly, but Brandon went on.

“Thing is we were ready for it too, Ned gave Rodrick the signal but just in that moment mother called us over insensently and we couldn’t refuse without giving away our cover, so we went to her hoping to stay close enough to not draw suspects but to be safe from the snow. Lya feigned being asleep and mother asked me and Ned to carry her back inside, needless to say as we leaned down to do just that mother stood up and shoved us gently where she was sat a minute before, just in time for Rodrick to move he branch and the snow fell all over _our_ heads” he finished his tale with a boisterous laugh. 

Avaelya giggled “Serves you right” she said “you had to be taught the hard way not to play pranks on your mother”

“I can’t tell you how long she laughed at our expenses” he added with a bright smile. 

Avaelya smiled “You poor boy” she cooed “your mother pranked you right back didn’t she?” she caressed his cheek and Brandon dove in for a kiss on her rosebuds lips. 

He had had her that very morning, just before breaking his fast in the great hall and yet his _need_ for her kept building and building, growing exponentially. He relaxed his hand on her waist, his palm big enough to actually cover her waist and her flat belly, the rough fabric of the dress tingling the skin of his hand as the kiss turned more passionate. 

He loved the feeling of her small, lithe body pressed against his, so little but that seemed fashioned exactly to be pressed against his so much bigger one. How she welcomed him so fully and wholly, it was as if _she_ was the very North he inhabited. It looked like he could not get enough of her. 

Not for the foreseeable future, anyway.

He had always been a man of great appetites, whether they be carnal or literal. And often he needed more than one partner to be satisfied enough, Avaelya _alone_ and inexperienced as she was managed to keep him enthralled and still coming back for more.

It was as if she put an _enchantment_ on him and Brandon was only too happy to oblige her every whim and desire. 

So taken he was by the passion running in his veins that his other hand travelled up her lithe body and found the laces of her corset, caressing the rim of her dress, leaving trails with his fingertips against the skin of her collarbone. 

“Perhaps we should stop” she breathed against his lips “we are out in the wild _and_ on horse back”

Brandon pressed his forehead against her and smirked “You are right, on horseback it won’t do” he admitted “but that tree does look comfortable enough” he offered.

She frowned “What are you talking about, _Brandon_?” she asked, his name falling from her lips as if a spell, Brandon smiled and jumped off his horse, he whistled soundly and Chalot moved his impressive body out of the way standing vigil far enough not to be a spectator, but near enough to be of help in case he was needed. 

He grabbed Avaelya by the waist and lifted her off the horseback, bringing her flush against his body.

“Someone could see!” she protested between kisses as Brandon walked to the nearest tree, bringing her flush against himself and pressing her to the dark trunk of the tree. She moaned slightly against his mouth when he pressed himself against her. 

“We are well away from any used road - he told her, his logic wearing down on her resolve to do nothing - besides we have a direwolf keeping guard we’ll be fine” he promised. 

“Shayra is going to kill you if you make me fall ill with even just a cold because you undressed me in this weather” she jested and Brandon claimed her lips with his another time.

“That just means I’ll have to keep you warm _or_ leave your clothes on” he said simply and she whimpered the moment his fingers travelled to her leg, hooking it up to his hip and trailing beneath the fabric of her skirt and her high wool socks, to her inner tight and her small clothes. 

He pressed another fervish kiss to her lips “Or perhaps both” he offered diving in to kiss the porcelain skin of her neck, leaving open mouthed kisses and lovebites all along her collarbone. 

He moved aside her smallclothes and dipped one finger in the heath of her core, she moaned, her arms coming to circle his shoulders and she held on for dear life. Brandon smirked against her skin “You sure you don’t want me to stop?” he wondered in jest looking up to find her amethyst eyes lucid and murderous.

“Aye” he whispered pressing a kiss to her mouth “I won’t stop, my _bunna aman_ , do not set me on fire” he added pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It was her turn to be jesting “I though you _loved_ it when I set you on fire” she mocked him, and Brandon gave her a small pinch on the butt.

“I do” he told her, swallowing her yelp with a kiss “but only when you set me on fire, without _spitting_ real fire on me, though if it is _spitting_ that you’d like...”

Her cheeks reddened. He loved seeing her becoming all timid when his innuendos were _too_ easily read. She swatted his shoulder “Less talk and more action, my lord, or your wife will be bound to think you are only big on talking and not..” she never finished her sentence because Brandon fell on his knees and pooled her skirts over his head, starting to devour her. 

Useless to say there was not much talking after that.

They came together after Brandon brought her on the precipe of pleasure twice without going through with it, frustrating her _and himself_ even further. Their lovemaking would have awoken a sleeping giant if there had been any in the vicinity. When they finally came down from the high brought from their joined pleasure, Brandon let her legs fall back from his waist - where he had made her hook them - and though he remained inside of her as long as he could, his blood roaring in his ears, his appetite for her sated for the time being, he relaxed his frame against hers and the tree trunk as she sagged against him, holding him up at the same time. 

He pressed a sloppy kiss to the sking of her shoulder, left bare since he had almost tore her corset open to get as much skin-to-skin contact as he could. She shivered. Brandon took a step back from her, lacing his breeches again and when she whimpered at the sudden loss of contact he pressed a peck to her lips before piling his cloak on her too so that she may not feel too much cold. 

“Rest a bit, my _bunna aman_ ” he offered, leading her to a divelted tree trunk and letting her sit, Chalot immediately at her side, big and imposing as a horse “I will make wood for the fire”

* * *

  
After a one day and half travel through the snow of the North they were finally reaching their destination, the stone village that stood mid-road between Winterfell and the Wall, the Blade of the Father. Avaelya was still pressed to his side when they entered the stone village, her amethyst eyes bulging out as she took in the immense structures.

She had unbraided her hair and some of the winterberries she had intertwined with it had fallen off but the majority of it had remained like droplets of ruby red in the moonlight curls. She looked as wild as the North, she looked like the North with her pale face and snow-white hair lighten by the moon…

… she was his. 

“Where have you taken me, Brandon?” she murmured, Chalot big as he was, was dwarfed by the buildings excavating in the side of the wall of the small frozed canyon that housed the Blade of the Father. 

“It’s called the Blade of the Father” he told her “and it is the nearest settlement of the Giants who still live this side of the Wall” he finally revealed. 

“You have brought me to meet the giants? I though they lived only beyond the Wall!” 

“Most of them do” he offered “but the ones more closely knitted with us still live this side of the Wall” he said “they are the more civilized clans, the ones beyond the wall are more… _savage_ ”

Just as he was saying that an enormous, imposing shadow covered them, Avaelya looked up and stilled in his hold. The woman stood a good twelve feet tall and was carded in furs, her hair were tight ringlets that spoked in every directions and she moved so slowly that the earth had time to stop vibrating between one step and the next. 

Brandon smiled “She” he whispered in his wife’s ear “Is Eìru - he told her - she is the daughter of the Chief of the Stone Clan” he explained “she is a sort of princess of giantessess, much like you, my _bunna aman_ ”

“Lovely” she muttered “I feel even more minuscle” she offered. Brandon let out a roaring laugh. 

“Do not worry, my _bunna aman_. I shall protect you”

“You better” she said holding onto him for dear life “Or I’ll come back from death to haunt you”

“As I said already, I’d be quite lucky indeed to be haunted by the most beautiful ghost ever”

“You are smooth” she conceded “but smooth won’t save you”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek and smiled “Don’t be so fearful, my _aman_ ” he told her “They are a bit primitive, maybe, but they are good”

Avaelya did not look to think the same when she saw Cahim Cahm Der Cahm - the said Chief - eating a goat raw and still alive. Well, Brandon could give her that _that_ was certainly not a sight most fit for a lady. 

Cahim stood almost fifteen feet tall, and sat on the stones he was almost as tall as the Wall they could see in the distance. 

“ _Woman_ ” he told him, waving said goat in their direction in the Old tongue. Brandon nodded.

“Aye” he said “ _my woman_ ” he added. Cahim smelled the air around them.

“ _Southern_ ” he said simply “ _smoke and snow_ ” he added probably commenting on her smell “ _blood and fire, winter_ ”

Brandon nodded once again “ _she’s a dragon_ ” he told him “ _a dragon from Dragonstone, a dragon of Old Valyria blood_ ” he added “ _she is a dragon of moonlight_ ”

“ _Snow”_ the giant said waving the half eaten goat once again “ _winter dragon”_

Brandon smiled “Aye” he said “Winter is coming”

The giant nodded “ _death is coming_ ” he said “ _slumber is not eternal_ ” he added. 

Brandon nodded and Chalot wrapped itself around them, offering silent support to Avaelya who was being studied closely by Eìru and her sisters. 

“ _The Starks will endure -_ he promised - _the North will endure_ ”

“ _The North remembers_ ” Cahim said “ _she is not of the North_ \- he told him, gesturing to his wife - _her people forgot, the Children know. But she won’t forget_ ”

Brandon did not know what Cahim was meaning and in that moment Eìru said “ _She looks pretty_ \- she looked at him - _pretty and small, can she give you sons?_ ” 

Brandon almost choked on his own laugher “ _We hope so_ ” he said “ _the Old Gods will decide_ ”

Eìru sniffed the air around them and bended so that her head (twice that of Avaelya) was the same heigh as his wife’s, she looked in her eyes “ _She has beautiful eyes_ \- the giantess said - _they are a gift from the Gods_ ”

Brandon turned to Avaelya “She says you are pretty and that you have very beautiful eyes - he told her - that they are a gift from the Gods”

Avaelya looked touched by the compliment “Could you tell her that her hair are very pretty too?” she asked “they look like made of water, like the deep waters of ponds” 

Brandon relied her compliment and Eìru nodded “ _she is pretty and she is kind_ ” she said “ _does she have fangs, wolf-man?_ ” 

“ _I have fangs enough for the both of us_ ” he assured her “ _she has snow and winterberries in her hair. The Children love her_ ”

Eìru nodded and looked at Fàllon her red-haired sister - the stars diviner - “ _She will give him stars_ ” the red-haired giantess offered “ _to guide his road when his path darkens”_

Avaelya looked back at him for a translation but Brandon found he could give her none because Fàllon took something out of her clothes, fishing it out and offering it to Avaelya who with a bit nudge on her lower back accepted the gift. It was a geode - puple and golden, its crystals shining - engraved to look like a butterfly on the stone side.

“ _It will bring you fortune, dragon of the moon_ ” Fàllon said “ _and you shall need it_ ”

After that Brandon did not feel bad about leaving her alone with Eìru and Fàllon or their two children as he discussed the last bit of news with Cahim Cahm Der Cahm in his tent, just out of sight but they could still see outside.

“ _Deserter_ ” the giant said, Brandon nodded.

“Aye” he replied “ _came all the way to the Kings Road before he was caught_ ” he explained in the Old tongue. 

“ _Awake_ ” Cahim said “ _death is awake_ ”

Brandon shook his head “ _I don’t know_ ” he said “ _he did not see the Others_ ” he offered “ _but he heard chanting in a old language and the earth shook beneath him and Winter looked him in the eye_ ” he reported. 

Cahim nodded “ _Death is awaking_ ” he said “ _Free Folk is no longer safe. Wall_ ”

“ _The Wall will stand_ ” Brandon promised “ _Bran the Builder make sure it would_ ” he added “ _did Fàllon see anything of this in the stars?_ ”

Cahim shook his massive head “ _She saw snow and death_ ” he told him “ _she saw winter but she did not see Death awoken, not yet_ ” he added “ _but slumber is not eternal_ ”

Brandon nodded.

“ _You have to protect_ ” the Giant said “ _North choose you_ ” he said then he gestured for Avaelya who was wrapped in Chalot’s body warmth and with a gentle snowfall swirling around her, Brandon had not even noticed it had begun to snow until that very moment “ _Choose her too_ ” he added “ _Sons she will give the North, warriors to fight for it and to care for it too, but shadows close in on her, winged shadows as big as mountains_ ” he told him “ _you must protect her_ ”

Brandon touched his amulet, the one she had attached to his neck the day of their wedding “ _I will_ ” he promised.

Cahim nodded “ _Winter is coming_ ” he said in the old tongue and Brandon nodded.

“Aye” he said “Winter is coming”

“ _Run along, wolf_ ” the chief said to him “ _the North will need you before this tale is done_ ”

Brandon felt the weigh of his great-axe strapped at his back grow even more as he left the enormous tent in which they had hold that conversation, his steel eyes fell on Avaelya and she smiled at him brightly. Her eyes were shining as the crystals of the geode Fàllon had gifted her, the same shade of amethyst and the burden seemed to lessen on him as the light of the flame of the small fire she was sat before danced on the porcelain skin of her face. 

_Aye, her light would guide his steps even in darkness. His dragon of the moon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. Hope you liked it! If you have any criticism to offer or suggestions to make do feel free, because they might make this story so much better than it is!
> 
> hope to hear from you soon! As always sending all my love - G.


	9. Shayra I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shayra speaks with a relative she didn't know she had in the North, someone who shares her concerns about the princess and this mad match the king has made. 
> 
> What will they do? Will it work?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello how are you? I hope you are all fine, here we are with a new chapter, are you excited about it?, I am for sure! So let's get on with it and see what you think of it.

_Shayra I_

**_S_ **hayra knocked on the door and awaited.

“Enter!” called the low, gentle voice of the Maester of Winterfell, so she did exactly that, opening the door of the Maester’s solar just as he was leafing through ancient looking scrolls. 

He was young and lithe, he had kind eyes and a gentle smile and he was her sole refuge in this wolf’s den. He was a southern too, the lowborn son of a Hightower girl - one of her cousins perhaps - and an archermaester of the Citadel. So he was kin and Shayra could not be more grateful for his presence in Winterfell.

“Lady Shayra” he saluted with a small bow “what can I do for you?” he wondered his kind smile spreading warmth over her. 

These northerns were cold, and raw and incomprehensible for her. She couldn’t understand _how_ princess Avaelya seemed to fit so well with them. They were exactly the opposite of the southern court Shayra was sent to, completely different from the court in which princess Avalelya had been raised. 

She had lost count of how many times had lord Brandon taken off with princess Avaelya uncaring for her health, it must be some miracle from the Gods - Gods neither Shayra neither the princess could appropriately pray to without a sept - that she had yet to fall ill, though her not having fallen pregnant yet could be because of the frequent excursions and the cold. Shayra knew better than to think the princess and lord Brandon’s relationship to be purely platonic, she knew they laid together every night - even the ones of her courses - as if lord Brandon truly didn’t take any other woman to his bed. 

Though she knew, by the maester himself, of how often lord Brandon used to visit the brothels, of how often he laid with women - perhaps more than one in a time - and yet he had not fathered any bastard, he either was the most careful man alive, or he couldn’t have children, which, if proved, could make their marriage null and make so that both the princess and her could return home. Where they belonged.

“I was just feeling…” her whisper broke off and she shook her head. 

“Unhopeful?” he guessed “Did the princess send you from her side yet again, my lady cousin?” he wondered, there was no malice in his tone. Only the concern of her own blood.

She nodded “Yes” she said “She’d rather the company of some northern lady who came with her father for business - she added - I start to believe she does not regard me anymore as her lady in waiting as she once did”

Shayra had been all that the princess had, once upon a time, her good-sister too occupied with trying to fall pregnant with the children of the heir to the Iron throne, her mother a world away…

...Shayra had been her only friend and confidant, but since coming North something had shifted. Her silver princess no longer seeked her out or heard her heartfelt advice. She was growing distant and Shayra was sure she’d have her heart broken once lord Brandon bored of her as he was bound to do, being a man of such ravenous appetites as he was recounted to be.

The Starks treated with respect even ser Blackfyre who had been considered nothing short of a bastard back in Kings Landing, a bastard bestowed the royal name of Blackfyre by his father but void of the Targaryen’s ambition that had led to the Blackfyre rebellion once before. 

“That cannot be true, my lady cousin” Maester Walys said softly, gesturing for her to join him at his table “I know that princess Avaelya trusts you above everyone else” he added “that you are her closest friend and confidant, I am sure that once the novelty of her marriage to lord Brandon is consumed she will return to you, do not fear, the young lord is not bound to be so… _single-mindedly_ attached to her for much longer, she does not meet his standards after all”

Shayra sent him a glare “Oh no, my lady cousin” he hastened to correct “the princess is more than what the lord deserves, more than this blasted North deserves” he added “but the lord is… unmannered, crude and uncouth, his taste in women… more so; the princess is too tiny, too delicate for his tastes”

She looked at the Maester of Winterfell as he looked at her intently in the eyes “She is a precious flower sent too far in the cold to survive without friends - he added scanning her face - she’s lucky to have you, but I am afraid that when the cold sets… she will wither”

“Oh, cousin” she despaired so for her friend “what can we do?” she asked concerned. So, she wasn’t the only one who worried over her friend, she was sure her lowborn cousin despite the nature of his birth would be her ally here, but she had been afraid that only she had maintained a cool head over the Starks - a group of mongrels ready to tear to pieces her beloved princess, scoundrels all of them - and their North.

Her princess would wither here without her, but Shayra would make sure that didn’t happen.

“I don’t know, dear lady” the Maester “I have yet to find a way to free her from the Winterfell’s hounds” he said “How far can I trust you, cousin?” he asked “are you ready to do anything, even something that may hurt her now to make sure she’s back where she belongs?” 

Shayra leant over the table, grasping one of his hands - resting on the wooden surface - in both of hers “Please, Maester, _please_ ” she begged “I am willing to do anything - she promised - **_anything_ ** to save my princess from this ugly fate”

He grasped her hands in both of his now, his dark eyes sparkling. He was comely enough and in the right light he could almost remind her of her brother, a Hightower in truth. 

“Oh thank you, Father - he said glancing up - thank you Mother, Maiden and Crone, thank you Warrior, Smith and Stranger” he added “I was afraid to be alone in my quest to save princess Avaelya from her fate, I fell so much better knowing she will also have you to look out for her”

“Yes, cousin” she promised “but what can we do?”

His eyes became cold and calculating, speculating “As per tradition princess Avaelya should have given as a bride to one of the the King’s sons and heirs, why did this not happen?”

“Prince Rhaegar already has a wife” Shayra explained.

“The _dornish_ ” the maester said with distaste, she nodded “Didn’t prince Viserys or Baelor or prince Aenys show any regard for her?”

“Aenys did” Shayra said suddenly “He is quite taken with Avaelya, even composing rhymes and poems for her and declaming them before all the court” she added “but he is almost two years her junior - she said, mulling things over - _and_ king Aerys considers such a match inappropriate”

“And why?” he asked “they are brother and sister, logically the king should have married them a long time ago, or at least betrothed them years ago”

“There had been talk of such a match, though not with young Aenys, but with prince Viserys the second born” Shayra said “when he was sixteen and princess Avaelya eleven, but it was all put on hold for her fragile health and even when she returned to court the king would not resume talk of such a match what with her being _too_ fragile of health and not enough _Targaryen_ for any of his heirs” 

“Not Targaryen enough?” the Maester blinked “she is clearly Targaryen enough, she has the silvery blond hair and the purple eyes…”

“He meant in demeanor” Shayra explained “it must not have escaped your notice that princess Avaelya is a bit… less temperamental than a normal Targaryen, she is sweet of disposition, _too_ sweet in king Aerys’ words, she is kind and she is clever but she lacks the Targaryen fire” she added “that coupled with her health and the possible difficulty for her to fall pregnant…”

“She’s barren?” 

“No” she said “Not that we know of, her courses come steadily and regularly” she added “the first man she’s ever lain with is her husband”

He nodded “That’s good, then. She’s not barren, so why would king Aerys believe her unable to give any of his sons heirs?”

“I think…” she started fidgeting with her hands “queen Rhaella had some trouble, especially with the princess and prince Aenys, the king believes her too, to be too sweet of disposition and he believes that not even the Targaryen seed would be strong enough if the woman is not strong enough”

“And he does not believe princess Avaelya to be strong enough” the Maester completed for her. 

Shayra looked down and nodded “That’s the gists of it, yes” she confirmed “he believes her a weakling that should not have survived her first night in the world, he doesn’t understand how she survived until now with all the health problems she had and how small she grew up”

The maester leaned back against the back of his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose “I do believe that king Aerys must be mislead, he must have been lied to, probably by the healers that cared for princess Avaelya.” he said “I will find a way to visit the princess and when I am sure she has the bearing capacity and is strong enough we should immediately send word to her father the King. In the meantime it is of foremost importance that she does not fall pregnant with the savage’s babe” 

“And how can we assure ourselves of that?” Shayra asked, her mind already reeling “the two seems to be attached to the hip especially in these last few weeks” she added letting the distaste fill her voice. 

“There is a contraception that can be used in such circumstances” he said “you are the one who serves her, her morning meal are you not?”

Shayra nodded “and” he continued “the princess takes tea with it every morning?”

“Yes, she does”

“I will give you the herbs and the recipes to make such a tea, but we must move carefully - he gestured with a hand around himself, - _they_ hear everything. This tea I will give you will help her…” he left the sentence to die, but Shayra got the meaning of it. 

She nodded.

“She must take it every day” he cautioned “or its effect won’t be as sure as if it was”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, as always let me know what you think of it.
> 
> Will they have success or not? Will the moontea work? How will everyone react when they find out? Will they find out?Let me know what you think!
> 
> As always sending all my love -G.

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are. Please, let me know what you thought of it, because I am curious to learn your opinions and if there are any doubts on the story.
> 
> Hope to hear from you soon! Sending all the love ~G.


End file.
